


Dust on a Butterfly's Wings

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Barney's not all that bad a brother, F/M, Fairies, Female Clint, Female Clint Barton, Female Tony Stark, Forced Pregnancy, Gender or Sex Swap, Lots of supernatural creatures, M/M, Mysticism, Past Rape/Non-con, Phil's a Duke, Steampunk, The one where Clint's a woman, Vampires, Victorian, Werewolves, and Fury has a mechanical eye patch, and Lady Antonia Stark is still very much Tony, fairy courts, gender swap, mechanical hands, steam powered cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Claire Francis Clinton Barton has a problem; calling in a favor from an old family friend seems like the best answer. Little does she know the events set in motion by one simple visit to the Coulson town home will lead her into a dangerous world. Lord Phillip Coulson, the Duke of Argyll is in need of a wife; all of his careful planning doesn't foresee Claire showing up on his doorstep and turning his life upside down.  A steampunk Victorian alternate world with vampires, werewolves, magic, and mysticism and right in the middle of it all, Phil Coulson and a female Clint Barton. Oh, and a female Tony Stark, but that makes infinite sense, all things considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have had the idea for the bones of this plot for quite a while but only when I decided to write Fem!Clint did it really come together. I hope I can do justice to Claire and Phil's relationship here in the middle of steam powered cars and magical beasts. Everything I know about Victorian London I learned from reading gothic novels like Jane Eyre, Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, and many Oscar Wilde plays.
> 
> The rape/non-con element is in the past and will only be referred to via discussions. It will not be shown.

_"His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred."_ Ernest Hemingway

 

Phillip J Coulson, the newly minted Duke of Argyll, scratched the nub of his ink pen across the watermarked paper. The curling black line spiraled out from the center, curving path guided by the pull of magic. Eyes closed, the pattern unspooled behind his eyelids and his hand swooped across the page. He kept his question firmly in mind, waiting for the answer to reveal itself. The line dipped and straightened, a square closing back in on itself, an ending and a beginning.

For a long time, Phil looked at the design, trying to read the meaning of the intricate script. So many decisions to be made and no guidance to be gleaned. He flicked his fingers, dark ink staining the tips, and pushed the drawing away. Other papers needed his attention, long lines of numbers and reports. Coming up to speed on his new duties was taking more time that he expected. Not that he’d ever imagined being the Duke so soon; his father had been a robust man, bluff and healthy. Robert Coulson had traveled the world over …  Brazil, Rhodesia, Egypt, the Himalayas … but he’d been felled by an influenza outbreak in London and died in this very house, his mother saved because she’d elected to remain at their country home to organize their latest finds.

“You have a visitor,” Jasper told him from the doorway. Phil blinked and realized the sun was shining through the beveled glass, the whole morning slipped away. His friend was wearing a morning coat with a red silk waistcoat, perfectly pressed cravat. The last time Phil had seen a right angle in the scrollwork had been just before Jasper had saved his life in the West Indies. Hired by Phil’s father when they were on an expedition to investigate the ruins at San Gervasio, Jasper had insisted on being known as Phil’s secretary when they’d returned to England. He’d taken to the role by buying a large number of suits, each one more fashionable than the last.

Phil looked up; Jasper had forgotten to wear gloves, his mechanical hand clicking as he pulled the door open. With a sigh, Phil put his pen in the well and stood, snagging his jacket from the back of his chair. No use reminding Jasper yet again; he hated the way the material caught in the gears. Wearing them out of the house would have to be enough. In polite society, a mechanical hand was still an oddity despite the advances in medicine.

“First time we’ve had lady visitors,” Jasper said as they walked down the hallway of the Hyde Park townhome that had been in Phil’s family for four generations. “Maria put them in the front salon. I think she went to get tea.”

Standing by the window, sunlight catching on the golden highlights in her hair, was Miss Claire Francis Clinton Barton. The last time Phil had seen her, she’d been a gangly thirteen-year-old with short spiky hair she’d cut herself. Then, she’d run around the dig site in pants and her older brother’s shirt, a wide belt notched around her waist, climbing the nearest tree or staying underfoot. Now, she turned blue-grey eyes his way, hair piled upon her head in soft curls, a rosy glow on her cheeks. She’d grown into her height, not thin like most women with wasplike waists, but full of curves. She wore a simple morning dress, nothing frilly or filled with ruffles and lace, just crisp muslin with lavender flowers and a deep purple jacket.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him with a nod of her head and a small curtsey.

“Miss Barton,” he took her hand and brushed a light kiss to her glove covered knuckles. “Or are you still going by Clint?”

Her lips quirked up at the edges, a blush rising beneath her tanned skin. “Well, mother insisted on naming me after her side of the family, so I thought it fitting at the time. But Claire is fine now.”

Phil turned to the other woman in the room. Red curls artfully tousled and pulled back, full red lips, emerald green eyes -- he knew of her even though he’d never met her. Finding her in his salon was unexpected, but the Way was like that. Ninety degree turns of fortune. First Claire and now Natasha Romanov, the infamous Black Widow.

“Phil Coulson, Duke of Argyll,” Claire introduced them. “Natasha Romanov. My companion.”

“It’s a pleasure.” He took the woman’s hand; humor danced around the edge of her eyes. She knew exactly who he was.

“Lord Coulson,” she replied. “I have heard many stories about you. I hope you live up to them.”

“You have to excuse Natasha,” Claire said. “She takes her Russian cynicism very seriously.”

“There’s often call for a realistic view of life,” Phil told her. “I stopped by Waverly and saw Lady Clinton when I was at Rossendale. She never changes. That’s comforting. And your brother? He’s well?”

“Barney never changes either,” Claire said with a shrug which told Phil everything he needed to know. “He has many friends and is quite active in his club.”

Maria Hill came through the door with a tea trolley. As much his friend as Jasper, Maria had been with them for the last few years. As his hostess and chatelaine, keeping his home in order, no one paid her notice and she liked it that way.

“Will you sit?” He motioned them to the settee, a particularly uncomfortable piece of furniture that his mother had picked out a few years ago. “The tea is Assam with chai spices. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He didn’t miss the look the two women exchanged as they sat down. Maria laid the tea service out along with a plate of biscuits and spiced cake. Waiting was one of Phil’s strengths; he knew when to sit back and let someone else do the talking so he took a seat in a spindly arm chair and thought about how to redecorate the room, giving his guests the opportunity to open conversation.

Delicate tea cup in her hand, Claire’s fingers gripped the thin handle as she brought it to her lips, sniffing the aroma before she took a sip. “Reminds me of Dimapur. Is this the china your mother brought back with her from Chenzhou? Packed it out on mules and didn’t break a single piece.”

“She held that over my father for years.” Phil smiled at the memory. “He was sure it was a mistake to even try.”

“Grandmother used it to blackmail Grandfather into bringing her that statue from Bhopal. You know the one, Tasha? That monstrously ugly Khali in the music room,” Claire said. “Barney used to tell me it came to life at night; I’m sad to admit I believed him.”

“Barney always has a story,” Natasha said.  Phil liked her already; he agreed with her assessment of Claire’s older brother, the current Earl of Huntingdon. “And Barney’s why we’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yes, it is,” Claire gave her friend a fond smile before turning her attention back to Phil. “When Grandfather passed, your father took me aside and told me if I ever needed anything I could come to him. I hope the same is true for you.”

It made sense to Phil; his father had always felt protective of Claire. It was his gift, to see the value in people and what they could be as well as what they were. He’d known what lurked beneath Claire’s father’s skin, had tried to warn his friend and partner, Lord Clinton, but the path had already been set for the tragedy that was to come.

“Of course.” He didn’t need to think about his answer; he’d watched her grow up and had counted her as family. She was part of his pattern; they may have spun apart for these last seven years, but her line had been intertwined with his. “Whatever you need. Just ask.”

She took a sip of tea, sat down her cup, and picked up a biscuit, toying with it between her fingers. “I have three names that I need information about. Finances, family secrets, any and all rumors. What kind of men they really are, not who they pretend to be. As a member of the peerage, you have connections that I do not. I need to know if any of these men are trustworthy.”

“That’s not difficult.” Phil glanced at Natasha; just how much did Claire know about her friend’s talents? If she knew, she wouldn’t be asking Phil for this favor. Unless there was more to the request than just gathering data. “I should be able to have the information for you in a day or two. Shall we say Thursday? Is there anything particular you want me to pay attention to?”

“Actually …” Claire paused and put down the crumbling cookie, brushing her fingers on a napkin. She took a deep breath and plastered on a careful smile. “I need someone to serve as my go-between to negotiate on my behalf. Make the arrangements in case one of the men pans out.” She fell silent for a moment and Phil waited her out, letting her set her own pace. “I do not wish to involve Barney in this matter; as I am of age, I don’t need his signature or permission. But it is still considered taboo for me to engage in the financial side of things.”

It took a few breaths before Phil understood what she was saying. “These men are suitors for you hand in marriage,” he said. When she gave him a curt nod in response, he continued. “You want to be sure they are suitable and that you can protect your assets.” He left aside the question of why she didn’t want her brother to know for the moment.

“Yes,” she agreed. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap and she chewed on her bottom lip, a habit of old when she was worried. “I am not without my own resources; Grandmother has entailed Waverly to me along with a modest income for its upkeep. While Barney has the title and Columbridge, I retain the Marchioness of Durbey to pass on. It’s enough to tempt some fortune hunters.”

“And some of your brother’s friends,” Natasha added. Reaching over, the Russian woman deftly poured each of them more tea.

“Barney’s companions are not on the list,” Claire shot back, voice sharp. It pleased Phil to hear the retort; he was having a difficult time reconciling this proper young woman with the terror of a young Clint Barton who’d annoyed Phil and Barney to no end, demanding to do whatever they did. “He has recently decided that I need a man to take care of me …”

“... get you under control …” Natasha murmured, earning her another hard glare.

  
“... but his ideal husband for me is far from my own requirements,” Claire finished. “My needs are simple; I want someone who isn’t marrying me for my money, who isn’t violent, and who will allow me to continue in my own pursuits.”

“You want someone who won’t care that you like to ride astride while shooting arrows at moving targets,” Phil said. The memory of her on that Mongol pony, shooting down clay pigeons, made him smile. “Just knowing that you were somewhere in the world hanging upside down from a branch and firing off arrows has often renewed my faith that there is good in this world, I must tell you.”

A red flush rose in her cheeks. “Well, you would be the first to say that,” she said with a full-bodied laugh, not a delicate titter so popular with the young ladies. “Grandmother indulges me; I have a whole obstacle course set up at Waverly and practice whenever I can get there. That makes three people now who don’t mind my interest in manly pursuits.”

“Well, that shall be one of the main criteria I shall investigate then. Three, you say? Perhaps we can expand the list? A bigger pool of candidates will lead to more success. I can think of a few young men of age who are worth considering. There’s a captain in the army whose temperament would fit with yours, a scientist with progressive ideals …” Phil thought through the people he knew.

“The problem is,” Claire broke in, “that I am on a tight timetable, I’m afraid. Ideally, I’d like to announce the engagement within the next two weeks, at the latest. The wedding would need to be held in short order and then we’d need to leave for the country for the summer and fall.”

The words spun into Phil’s head, adding together to form a strand of another story. “Claire.” Phil sat forward and captured her eyes with his. “Are you …?”

“I am with child,” she confirmed. Natasha placed a hand of support on Claire’s knee. “Very early along, we believe. So the man in question must also be willing to accept that fact.”

Before his waking eyes, the path turned one last time, closing back in on itself, returning Phil to where he started this morning. The list of names on his desk became moot as his life rearranged itself.

“The Great Square has no corners,” Phil murmured as the way was revealed.

“The Way that can be spoken of is not the constant Way,” Claire replied. “I had heard that you studied at the Temple of  Lao-Tzu; your mother is quite proud of you, you know.”

“She is currently pushing me to give her grandbabies to play with,” Phil answered. “It seems everyone knows that a man with a title and means must be in want of a wife. First thing your Grandmother asked me when I saw her was which young filly I was going to hitch myself to.”

“Oh, yes, she never lets up on Barney even though he is not interested in settling down. Far too much fun gaming and boxing and spending his evenings drinking at the club to have a wife and children.” The remark was supposed to be light and funny, but Claire’s eyes narrowed at the corners.

“In fact, I was working on my list of candidates before you arrived.” Phil watched Claire’s face for signs of understanding, noticing just how changeable her eyes were, blue then grey then green then blue. “I’m afraid my requirements are going to be impossible to meet.”

“I bet you have them all detailed with subpoints,” Claire laughed again and Phil thought how much he enjoyed that sound. “You always made plans within plans for our expeditions.”

“Still do,” he admitted. “Can’t set out without knowing the path to follow. Once I know the right direction, everything falls into place. Like you, here, today. You need a husband; I need a wife. It’s as simple as that.”

Her eyes widened and she sat up straight, a surprised huff as she realized what he was offering. “I did not come here for you to … That’s not what I meant at all.  Your Grace …”

“Phil,” he corrected her, leaning forward to cover one of her hands with his own. “You used to call me Phil and I’d like it if you would do so again. Hear me out before you decide. I understand this is unexpected; it is for me as well. But it’s the perfect answer. We have a history; a quick engagement will not raise any eyebrows. And I have already told people of my plan to visit my holdings in Scotland once the weather clears.”

“But …” She tried to interrupt but Phil squeezed her hand. and continued.

“I have four requirements for a spouse. First, someone I can have an intelligent conversation with. Having eaten around the same tables, I know how smart you are. Second, the Clinton name is well respected; our estates are close together, so merging them makes both families stronger.”

“You’re just after Waverly. I see,” Claire tried to joke, but her words were brittle with doubt.

“Always did love the maze beside the pond.” Phil sat back. “Third, Mother will definitely approve. Those three I was sure I could find. But the fourth I had already decided would be impossible. I have no intention to stop traveling; there’s too much to learn and see in the world. My parents took me with them; I want to do the same with my family. Don’t you miss it? Every day something new and unexpected?”

“My fall back plan. If I don’t find a husband, I’ll go abroad. Canada, I think, or the American West,” Claire answered.

“See? The solution is right here,” Phil replied.

“But why? Why would you want to claim another man’s child as your own? This child could be the next Duke of Argyll.” She honestly didn’t understand; all Phil could do was tell her the truth.

“It’s what my father did.”

Claire’s eyes widened, her mouth opening as she breathed in quickly. “I didn’t know,” she said.

“There’s no reason for anyone to know. Robert Coulson was my father in every way that mattered. The least I can do is pay back his love and kindness by doing the same for the woman he considered to be like a daughter.”

“Phil, I … I can’t …” She looked like she was about to argue the point.

“Clint, dear,” Natasha patted Claire’s leg. “Don’t go talking yourself out of something that is good for you. Lord Coulson can protect you and the child.”

Claire sighed, closed her eyes briefly, then turned towards her friend. “This is the outcome you wanted, isn’t it? You planned this whole thing.” She looked back at Phil. “Let me warn you; Natasha has a way of making people do what she wants. She reminded me that you were in town.”

“I have never meet the Duke before today,” Natasha objected.

“Call me Phil,” he told Natasha. “I have a feeling we’re going to get to know each other well.”

“Natasha,” she offered. “And for what it’s worth, you live up to your reputation.”

“Excuse me, I can arrange my own life,” Claire interrupted. The look Natasha gave her was pointed, but she didn’t say anything.

“There is one thing, however. I will need to know the man’s name. Not now, but eventually. I can’t plan for all eventualities if I don’t have all the information,” Phil said.

“I don’t want Barney to know. Ever,” Claire declared, drawing herself up. “He won’t handle it well.”

“Lord Barton isn’t known for controlling his temper,” Natasha added.

“He’s not going to hurt me, Nat. But he might very well go off half-cocked and say the wrong thing to the wrong person in some misguided attempt to protect my honor,” Claire replied.

Like a puzzle, Phil put the pieces together, all that Claire was telling him without telling him. No love lost between Claire and the father of the child, her worry that Barney would confront the man, the willingness to do whatever was necessary to ensure everyone thought her husband was the father.

“Like in Luxor. Remember how Barney was convinced he had found an undisturbed tomb of a pharaoh?” Phil asked. Claire was right to worry about her brother’s reaction; Barney Barton had a very short fuse, just like his father. Thankfully, he’d gotten enough of his mother’s passiveness to mediate the impulse to violence. Unfortunately, he’d also inherited his father’s love of taking risks. “If you hadn’t woken me, he’d have died down in that crevasse.”

“Stupid boy went into the cave by himself with no rope and not enough lamp oil,” Claire explained to her friend. “He was so sure he’d made the discovery of the century. Phil always kept a full pack ready to go by the foot of his bed.”

“So you know that I won’t make any hasty moves in this situation either,” Phil promised. She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him then sighed as the tension dropped away from her shoulders.

“I can admit when I’ve been maneuvered into a corner,” she said, “and accept help when I need it. Yes, Phil, your answer to my problem is an acceptable one. I agree.”

“In that case …” Phil rose and stepped to the open doorway. “You may as well come in,” he told the two people in the hallway. “Miss Claire Barton and Miss Natasha Romanov, may I introduce Miss Maria Hill and Mr Jasper Sitwell. My right and left hands.” There was a flurry of how-do-you-dos and curtsies and bows. “As long as everyone is here, you can serve as witnesses.” Dropping on one knee, he took Claire’s hand in his. Through the netting of the gloves, he could feel the callouses on her fingers from her bowstring, tiny roughened spots that caught on his own skin. He looked up into her beautiful eyes and saw the humor of the situation reflected there; a matching smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Miss Claire Francis Clinton Barton. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Why yes, Your Grace. I believe I will,” she answered.

The Great Square has no corners, he thought again. And his life took yet another turn.

* * *

 

He made the man stand there and wait until he’d finished reading the sheaf of papers in front of him before he looked up. Even then, he didn’t give permission to speak until the man began to shift uncomfortably, arms crossed in front of him.

“You need to get your men under control,” he finally said, voice cold and disinterested. “Bloody bodies with missing hearts get noticed. If you can’t stop whoever is doing it, I will.”

“It’s the newly turned. The blood moon is the worst and it’s coming soon. I’ll lock them down,” Brock Rumlow replied. A good soldier before, Rumlow had been ruthless and fastidious in his job. The wolf only made him more effective. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about the rest of his pack.

“Do that.” Alexander Pierce, the Earl of Essex, had little patience for failure. “Now, what do you have to report that’s so important you visit my house?”

“Lord Coulson had a very interesting visitor today.” Rumlow was a smart man; that was one of the reasons Pierce had chosen him to begin with. “Miss Claire Barton called on him for about an hour, along with her companion Miss Romanov.”

“Their families are connected,” Pierce said, reaching across his desk for the next folder on the stack of documents. “It’s not surprising they would visit each other.”

“True, but she hid the trip from her brother; Barney knew nothing about it,” Rumlow said. “She’s turned down every man he’s thrown her way and our contact in the house say she’s been sick the last few days.”

Pierce nailed Rumlow with his stare. “Sick? How so?”

“Vomiting, sleeping all day, achy. The household staff is worried it might be the flu,” he replied.

Sitting back in his chair, Pierce steepled his fingers into a triangle and let his eyes lose focus, searching for the pattern. “And Coulson. What did he do after this visit?”

“Within two hours he left his house and went to call upon Barney Barton. He’s there even as we speak.”

“Ah, so that’s the plan.” Pierce smiled. The information was more than worth the lost time. “We may need to move up the timetable; seems Miss Barton has pushed things forward. Contact the others. We’ll need to have a meeting to discuss this development.”

Rumlow nodded and left the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

Threads were coming together in surprising ways, but Pierce didn’t worry. Dealing with both threats would be easier this way. He’d just have to kill two birds with one stone.

 


	2. The Monster at the End of the Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil asks for Claire's hand in marriage and meets an old friend.

“Phil!” Barney Barton crossed the salon and enveloped Phil in a hug with strong arms. “I heard you were back in the country but didn’t know you were in town.”

Pulling back, Phil looked at the eldest Barton. As a teen, Barney had been whipcord slim, prominent cheekbones, sun-bleached blonde hair, and brilliant blue eyes. In his mid-twenties now, he had filled out, his waistcoat pulling across chest muscles, lawn shirt hugging close to his biceps. He’d become an adult in the intervening years. His eyes, though, were still arresting blue and his hair blonde just like Claire’s.  

“I only arrived late last week. Been visiting Mother and a few of the closer estates,” Phil answered as Barney ushered him into the room.

“I hope you stopped at Waverly. Gran will never forgive you if you didn’t.” Barney motioned Phil to a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs; the Barton house always had comfortable furniture. Phil had to remember to ask them where they purchased it. “She loves your letters; she misses the adventure and still hasn’t accepted that she can’t travel anymore.”

“I saw her; she’s doing well.” Phil sat down, but Barney didn’t, preferring to lean against the mantle instead, his arms folded across his chest. “She asked when I was going to get married.”

Barney barked out a laugh, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Oh, she has a one track mind when it comes to great grandchildren,” he said. “I want to live to hold another generation, she always tells me. Won’t stop meddling; she guilts me into going to events ‘in the family name’ and then has eligible young misses waiting for me to arrive.”

“There’s a mountain of invitations on my desk; I’m half-afraid to make my first appearance from all the stories I’ve heard about aggressive mothers.” His first night in London, Phil had visited his father’s club for dinner and heard an earful from the men there.

“It will be worse for you. The longer your purse strings and older your title, the more they chase you.” Barney shook his head.

“Actually, I’ve discovered a way around that,” Phil said. “Get engaged.”

“Ah, but then you have to marry her and next thing you know you’ll have a couple children and you’re hosting weekend parties at the country house where the most excitement is who gets caught sneaking through the hallway at night,” Barney replied. “So which eligible young woman have you decided upon? I think I’ve met most of them.”

“Your sister, Claire. Assuming you agree, of course.” Phil watched the surprise fill Barney’s eyes and the disbelieving raise of his eyebrows. The niggle of power at the back of his neck was like a fish pulling on a line.

“Claire?” He huffed out an aborted laugh. “You’re serious? You want to marry Claire?” He pushed away from the wall. “Oh, this calls for a drink. You want some brandy?”

“Is it that strange an idea?” Phil asked as Barney poured two glasses half full of dark liquid and handed one to Phil, taking the other for himself.

“No, no, it’s not that.” Barney sat in the opposite armchair. “You didn’t know, did you? How completely mashed on you she was?”

“Claire had feelings for me?” Phil thought back; he saw no clues that Claire had felt any different for him than anyone else. In fact, she would have rather played a trick on him than say anything nice.

“You treated her like an equal, never told her to behave like a lady,” Barney explained. “Of course she was in love with you. That’s why she was so mean to the girls you dated; she knew you thought of her as a kid and didn’t see her that way.”

“The salt switch.” Phil remembered the awful taste of the pie Miss Imogene Prentice made to impress him; someone had substituted salt for sugar in her kitchen.

“The dung beetles, the loose bricks in the walkway.” Barney shrugged. “She was very imaginative. You, on the other hand, were tone deaf.” He sipped his drink. “She grew out of it, thank heavens, in Dimapur. What was that boy’s name again? Richard, Roger?”

“Robert Morse. They were inseparable. Nice enough fellow for a thirteen-year-old son of diplomatic envoys,” Phil supplied. “I saw him a few years ago in Bangladesh; he’s studying science now.”

“Good for him,” Barney said. “You can see why I found your proposal humorous; always looking for ways to embarrass my little sister and you just handed me a great one. But that fact aside, you would make a good match. I can’t imagine you staying in England, not with so many new places to see; she’ll enjoy that.”

“So you would be in favor of the union?” Phil pushed the conversation back to his original point. The niggle returned and he tugged on it, trying to determine what was causing his unease.

“Have you spoken to her about this? Claire doesn’t do well with surprises,” Barney asked.

“Yes, we’ve discussed it and she’s given her consent. I know she’s of age and can make her own decisions, but I would prefer if you were in agreement.”

“Oh, I can’t agree. Not yet.” Barney put his drink down on the table. “I promised Claire she could make the decision. Haven’t always kept my promises but I intend to on this one.”

He stood and walked to the door, opening it. “Lori?” he called. A young maid appeared in the doorway; her red hair was tucked neatly in a cap except for a few tendrils. She smiled and curtsied.

“Yes, My Lord.” Her green eyes flitted up to Barney then back down. A full blown tremor ran down Phil’s spine.

“Would you ask Claire to come to the salon?” Barney asked.

“Of course, My Lord,” she agreed.

“You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to talk Claire into thinking about marriage. She was seventeen when the Earl became ill; at first, there was talk of her having a season with Gran in charge, but that became moot very quickly. Then there was the mourning period and she wanted to stay out at Waverly … well, it’s past time to secure a future for her.” Barney paced back over and picked up his drink. “If there’s one thing I can do right, it’s this.”

A moment of silence fell and Phil felt as much as heard the discordant note that vibrated in the air, like different paths converging into one space.

“Lord Coulson.” Claire appeared in the doorway, wearing the same day dress as before. Just hours early, she’d come to his home and upended his plans. “How nice of you to visit.”

Phil stood and took her offered hand, sliding his thumb along her knuckles when he smiled at her. “I’m catching up with your brother. He wishes to know your position on the matter of our engagement. Something about a promise, I believe.”

“You remembered,” Claire said to her brother. “See? That wasn’t hard, was it?”

“This whole afternoon has been entirely painless, if not downright interesting,” Barney replied. “But I need to know, scamp, if you want to marry this bounder. He’s likely to hie you off to parts unknown and make you sleep in a tent.”

“You know that’s an enticement,” Claire answered. “I’ve been reading about the American’s grand canyon and a steam engine that can take you across the desert to see it. Maybe that could be our first trip.”

“Good. Excellent in fact. So that’s settled.” Barney thumped Phil on the back.

“The announcement will appear in the paper tomorrow,” Phil said.

“Tomorrow? No, Friday. The afternoon post has already gone out, hasn’t it?” Barney asked. Claire nodded. “Then we need a day for your letter to get to Gran. She’ll have a fit if she reads of the engagement in the paper instead of hearing of it from Claire. If it goes out first thing in the morning, we should be fine.”

“That’s true,” Claire told Phil. “You know Grandmother.”

“Friday it is then. Oh, and one more thing. I’m surveying all the family holdings, going personally, you understand, to cement my position as the Duke. I’ll be leaving for Scotland in a month and I’d like Claire to accompany me.” Phil slid that fact into the conversation, nice and easy.

“Will we be near the Isle of Skye? I hear it is beautiful there,” Claire added.

“We can add a few days to swing up that way,” Phil promised her. “As long as you don’t mind a small ceremony before we go.”

“The gardens at Waverly will be in bloom soon.” Claire smiled. “Down near the pond and the maze would be a good spot.”

“And we can have the wedding dinner at Marlybowe; Mother will like that.” The threads flowed now, spinning together without any snags, the earlier unease gone.

“We should celebrate,” Barney said. “Why don’t we go to my club and have a drink? We can iron out the details of my part in all this over a good dinner.”

“I’m afraid I already have dinner plans with an old friend this evening,” Phil said. “Perhaps tomorrow night? Mother is coming into to town for Lady Winthrop’s ball on Sunday evening; are you planning to attend? May I escort you?” The last he addressed to Claire.

“Of course,” she replied. “I should warn you; I love to dance.”

“That I remember well,” Phil said. Everything back on track, he relaxed and picked up his drink. “Now tell me all about this new steam-powered skeletonic suit everyone is buzzing about at the club. A Stark design, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

The brisk March wind meant that no one paid attention to a maid with her hood up and cloak pulled tight. Lorelei walked with quick purpose, glad for the overcast grey skies and the threat of rain. London was not a sunny city, a boon for her. She could blend in easily, protected by the clouds from harmful rays. While the young ones would burn quickly even on this grey a day, she was much older and much more powerful. Her porcelain skin stayed white and smooth; she could even endure a bright day with a thick cloak to cover her.

She moved from the Barton house in the respectable Hanover Square to the ultra-fashionable Park Lane, slipping through the garden gate of one of the larger homes and tapping on the back door.  It opened immediately and she made her way through the kitchen and into the conservatory where her master sat reading under a potted palm.

“I have news, My Lord.” She bowed her head. Her maker always made her wait.

Finally, he put down his book and looked up at her, green eyes surveying her from head to toe. “Grey is not a good color for you,” he said as way of greeting. Her dress shifted from simple broadcloth to the finest silk, cloak now a rich velvet. “There’s no need to be pedestrian.”

She smoothed her hand over the slick material; she had missed the feel of quality. “How much long must I maintain this charade?” she asked.

“What have you discovered?” He simply ignored her question and stood, placing his book on the bench. At his full height, he towered over Lorelei, slim and pale, his long dark hair brushing the shoulders of his perfectly fitted black evening jacket.

“Claire Barton is engaged to Lord Coulson, the Duke of Argyll,” she reported.

“Interesting.” Loki Laufeyson, the oldest vampire in London, turned his soulless gaze her way, his full attention intense and uncomfortable. “This is an unexpected turn. And the Earl, her brother?”

“He is pleased but remains oblivious to the plan. So easy to wrap around my finger, our Barney Barton. Merely the promise of this body and he gave me exactly what I wanted.” She’d honed her skill for years, manipulating men to do her bidding.

“And Miss Barton?” A hint of a smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “How is the lovely young lady?”

“Ill most mornings, but smelling deliciously pregnant.” It was hard to resist, in fact; men might follow her without question, but a beautiful woman with curves spoke to Lorelei in ways the hard planes of a man never did. “The engagement shows her intelligence, does it not?”

“Know your place.” Loki’s tone turned harsh. “Claire is mine. Do not challenge me.”

“I am not, My Lord.” She bowed her head; long fingers caught her chin and lifted her face up until his nose was almost touching hers. Nostrils flared as he took in her scent; his teeth elongated, slipping over his bottom lip.

“You have fed recently.” A statement, not a question.

“A livery boy. Just a sip to keep him in my thrall; he gathers information for me on where they go.” She told the truth; she’d been hungry since Loki had given her this mission with strict instructions not to drink from either of the Bartons.

His judgment hung in the air for another second and then he stepped back, seemingly satisfied. “The information you’ve brought me is good. You may feed yourself before you return to the house. Be very careful with the body; after the fiasco at South Trenton, we must be extra wary of garnering any notice.”

“Thank you, My Lord. No one will be the wiser,” she promised. “And what of Lord Coulson? Shall I make a connection to his household as well?”

Loki picked up his book and waved her away, done with the conversation. “Phillip Coulson is of no consequence. It is the Bartons who are our primary goal. We cannot allow Pierce to gain a foothold there.”

She didn’t agree, but she nodded without speaking and took her leave. Were it up to her, she’d have already enthralled Claire Barton and done away with the brother; she didn’t understand the machinations of Lord Laufeyson and the plans within plans he was always spinning. Still, he’d given her permission to enjoy herself and she knew where to find exactly what she needed. No body to dispose of, and a high unlike anything she’d known in her long years. Such power in his blood, the taste of strength and wildness in every mouthful. She could hardly wait.

* * *

 

“Phil Coulson.” Nicholas Fury stood and offered Phil his hand before he pulled him into a hug. “I was beginning to believe you were nothing but some ink on a page. Been gone too long, my friend.”

They’d met in India when Nick was stationed there with the Regulars when Phil was nineteen. Two very different people, they shared a pragmatic view of the world, Phil willing to embrace the mystical when presented with it and Nick willing to battle whatever attacked them. Fury had lost part of his regiment to a vetala attack and a partnership was born. Tall and imposing, Fury’s dark skin stood out in the room full of white men; with the metallic lens that covered his left eye, he cut a dashing figure all in black.

“Good to see you too, Nick.” Phil settled down in the the leather arm chair across from Nick. “Been an eventful day. I could use a glass of whiskey and a good meal.” He motioned to one of the servers who took his order and returned quickly with a full tumbler. “Seems I’m about to get married.”

“Well that was quick work,” Nick replied. “You’ve been in town for less than a week and have a bride already picked out? Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Miss Claire Barton.” Phil watched the clockwork lens adjust, gears spinning as Fury took a second look.

“How do you do it, Phil? Right in the middle of the action every time.” Nick sat back, grinning at him. “Been watching the Bartons for awhile now. They’ve caught the attention of some of the darker elements.That’s what I want your help with.”

“The path has a way of circling back around on itself.” One of the first mantras Phil had learned was to never question where the Way took him.

“Well, I hope your path can find out what’s going on. I’ve got six bodies in the two months and the Papers are screaming about a killer on the loose.” Fury broke off as Phil’s dinner was served, a flaky crust filled with chicken and mushrooms and covered in a wine sauce.

“How does Claire fit in?” Phil asked around his first mouthful.

“I don’t know,” Fury admitted. “It all came to a head six weeks ago at Lord Davenport’s house party. Something happened that weekend; from the minute they returned to London, the Bartons have been the center of activity. The older brother has made some new friends, the kind who prefer night to day and who talk him into increasingly dangerous situations. I don’t think he’s even aware of their true nature. Had Miss Romanov not been Miss Barton’s companion, I fear she’d have been in much more peril. They’re following her, keeping tabs on her behavior. If you have visited them, then the underbelly of London knows it.”

“Six weeks.” It wasn’t his secret to tell, Claire’s pregnancy, so he kept it to himself, tucking away the timeline into the growing pattern of facts. “You mentioned an escalation in your last missive.”

“Aye. They’re recruiting. Both sides. New changelings running around the city, causing havoc. Thing is, we can’t track them back to their masters, not yet. It’s as if they’re readying for war.”

A widening gyre that returned back to the same starting point. Phil remembered the first time he and Nick had averted this kind of war. It had cost them many friends and Nick’s eye. Now, the path of destruction included Claire and her unborn child.

“Then we find them and stop them,” Phil said. “And keep Claire safe in the bargain.”

“Just like always, Cheese. You and me.”

* * *

 

Claire swung her leg over her window railing, caught the edge of the downspout and used the pipe to swing over to the branch of the big maple tree in the back garden. Natasha was going to kill her when she found out, but Claire couldn’t stay cooped up in her room all the time, scared of every shadow. Clambering down the trunk, she dropped to the ground lightly, barely making a noise, pausing in the darkness long enough to ensure no one had heard. Her thigh high boots were soft soled and comfortable, her leather pants worn and broken in. With her hair in a long braid, tucked up under a dark hat, she could move freely and quickly to the back wall, peeking into the stables through a small window.

Joshua had been acting strangely; today, when she’d come to curry Lucky, Joshua had seemed listless, not joking with her as he usually did about Claire’s unhealthy obsession with her horse. A good lad, Joshua always had something funny to say; he was bright and had a good way with animals. Claire expected him to become a head groomsman one day, running his own stables somewhere.

Inside, sweeping out a stall, Joshua was working, cleaning and filling up food bins for the evening feeding. He whistled as he moved, efficiently performing what was obviously a familiar chore. Patting each horse in turn, Joshua called them by name as he prepared them for night, blankets over their backs and fresh hay at their feet.

Leaning back against the brick wall, Claire felt a little foolish. She’d jumped to a conclusion yet again, or so it seemed. Since that night, she’d made a lot of poor assumptions, seeing things where nothing existed. Joshua had just had a bad day, that was all. The answers her mind had supplied were only her imagination. There were no monsters lurking under the stairs or out in the dark or in her bed.

Thing was, Claire had always been willing to believe in the supernatural. She’d been in sacred temples long abandoned, tombs of kings, wild expanses of natural beauty, and she knew beyond a doubt that there was more out there than could be explained by steam engines and scientific experiments. She’d studied ancient texts, heard old stories, understood that only the most arrogant of an Englishman would believe they had all the answers. It was, in the end, the only way to explain the fuzzy memories and blue-tinged dreams she had. Either she was going crazy or there were monsters in the night.

A low growl raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It had come from the other side of the wall, out in the alleway. A woman’s moan, quiet in the night, was cut off by another growl. A throbbing at the base of her skull, pressure in her chest -- Claire felt a wash of energy run along her skin. Like this morning, when Phil had taken her hand; she’d felt the same thing then but it had been warm, gathering in her gut, sending tingles along her spine and down her back. This was colder, more violent.

She’d gone over the wall more times than she’d care to count; skirts or pants, she could be in the alley in seconds and in complete silence. Tonight, she balanced on the top, feet in secure niches, and surveyed the brick road that ran between the houses. Two figures were leaning against the wall just down from the gate, moonlight spilling over their twined bodies. Lori’s skin shone white as she turned her face to the side; her eyes closed as the man nuzzled against her neck, her lips pursing as she exhaled. His body pressed in, the folds of her skirt in his hands, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust up into her. He groaned, his dark hair a stark contrast to the tendrils of red curls that had escaped from her cap.

Ducking down until only her head was visible, Claire started to drop back to the ground and go inside. It was none of her business if Lori had a lover and it certainly wasn’t the first time Claire had seen two people together. One thing about traveling around the world, she’d gained quite an education about sexuality through her exposure to different cultures. Her Grandfather had a collection of rare texts with very graphic images; warning Claire and her brother away from them had only made sneaking in to look at the pages that much more exciting. With one last glance to ensure she hadn’t been seen, Claire started to let go.

Then Lori’s eyes opened and her lips parted to reveal elongated teeth; she wrapped a hand into the man’s hair and yanked his head back, turning him to bare his neck as she sank her fangs into the revealed skin. Black rivulets of blood ran down as the man growled, deep and low in his chest; his fingers twisted into claws that drew blood where they cut into Lori’s skin.

A gasp bubbled in Claire’s throat; she bit down hard to silence it, slicing open her bottom lip, the tang of blood on her tongue as she hit the ground, light enough on her feet to barely make a noise. Her mind reeled at what she’d seen, fear warring with a sense of survival that was urging her to flee. Instead, she stayed hidden in the shadows until she heard more groans and growls before she made her way back up the tree and into her bedroom. Closing the window behind her, she sagged down onto the bench by her vanity, her head in her hands.

So monsters were real. And one of them was in her house.

She wished she hadn’t been right.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger lurks on crowded sidewalks. Good thing Lady Antonia Stark is nearby to lend a hand. OH, and of course, Toni has a really cool conveyance. You knew she would, didn't you?

“The grey silk?” Claire asked, turning in the mirror to see the full effect of the new French style bustle Natasha had suggested. “I think it will do.”

“No, the royal purple. You’re out of mourning and going to be a Duchess. The Indian silk with the embroidered flowers. It will bring out your eyes.” Natasha fingered the bolt spread out on the table. “And lilac gloves. Or crisp white lace. Grey kid slippers will suffice.”

“That’s too much,” Claire half-heartedly protested. Natasha always got her way when it came to clothes; if left to her own devices, Claire would wear something serviceable until it wore thin. And pants. Claire adored a good pair of trousers. “The cost …”

“The Duke has taken care of everything, Milady,” the seamstress said. “We can have the dress completed by Saturday morning and delivered.”

“Excellent. Then it’s decided.” Natasha took charge. “I’m off to the milner’s, the new one. She’s claiming to be Italian, but her accent is atrocious. Still, she does lovely work. I shall look for a muff and fur hat for you. Scotland gets nearly as cold as my Russian winters. Peter will wait and carry the packages. Meet me there when you’re done.”

There were still a few measurements to take; Claire turned when told and looked at her profile in the mirror. In a few months, she wouldn’t be able to wear the dresses they were fitting her for now. Her stomach would round and then she’d have to hide the baby growing inside of her. Even thinking of it made her nauseous, a constant state for her lately. She tried not to let the memories bleed into her consciousness, not here, in public. An oppressive weight settled on her chest, threatening to choke her; she counted her breaths, in and out, lengthening them until the panic receded.

There was so much to worry about; Claire had lain awake, deciding what to do about Lori and what she was. Her first inclination was to fire Lori, kick her out of the house, but as far as Claire could determine, in the six months Lori had been working in the house, she’d  attacked no one, no mystery puncture wounds or bodies drained of blood. That didn’t mean Lori wasn’t up to something, but Claire made the decision it was better to keep a close watch on the woman by keeping her in plain sight.

The milner’s was a block away, across the street; finished at the dressmaker’s, Claire stepped out onto the sidewalk and walked smartly along to the corner, Peter following with their purchases. She wove her way through the window shoppers and those out for a stroll, parasols up to avoid the afternoon sun. Bond Street was bustling, carriages and curricles passing by, along with the occasional steam car pumping out a line of white smoke. As she skirted along the sidewalk edge, around a group of chattering women mesmerized by display of purses, a beautiful chestnut bay caught her eye. Head held high, the horse pranced in his harness, tossing its mane as if he knew he was handsome. Claire had always found the company of a quality horse refreshing; she got along much better with them than she did most humans.

A touch in the small of her back, a push, and she was tumbling out into the oncoming path of a car. Wheels churning in the mud, the driver slammed on his brakes, but there was no time. Spinning her arms, Claire tried to regain her balance, but she was overextended; frantically, she tried to judge the distance, wondering if she had time to tuck and roll out of the way of at least the first set of tires.

Something warm circled her right wrist, pulling her back; if she’d had time to think, she’d have remembered learning how to swing up on a running pony, pushing off from the ground and using the pommel as a fulcrum. But she didn’t, so she reacted from memory; she swung her body in an arc to the left, let the momentum of the tug continue a full 180 degrees. Her shoulder connected to metal; a sharp pain radiated down her arm. Then she was being gathered up in strong arms that stepped back away from the curb, taking her with him.

Voices babbled excitedly as she rested her head on the crisp broadcloth of the man’s jacket for a moment, getting her breath back. Peter was calling her name and she pushed away only to be caught again with hands on her arms when she wobbled on unsteady feet.

“Careful there. You took a hit. Are you alright?”

She looked up into blue eyes framed in dark skin and a kind face. “I think so. Thanks to you.”

“Oh my God!” The dark haired woman standing next to the man said. “That was amazing! I thought you were going right under that car.”

“Toni,” another voice, a blonde petite woman, said, her voice laced with warning. “Appropriate responses, remember?”

“It’s fine, Lady Stark,” Claire told the brunette. Everyone knew who Antonia Stark, the Duchess of York, was. They’d crossed paths twice in the past, but Claire was sure someone of Lady Stark’s status wouldn’t remember her. “A little skill I picked up in Kashgar while traveling with my grandfather.”

“Mongolia! Horse nomads? Fascinating.” Lady Stark looked like she was about to ask more questions when the blonde broke in.

“This is Lt. Colonel James Rhodes and I’m Virginia Potts,” she introduced them, adroitly cutting Lady Stark off.

“Miss Claire Barton. And I am in your debt.”

“Can we offer you a ride home? Our conveyance is just around the corner; Rhodey was here to pick us up,” Miss Potts asked.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Claire objected even though her shoulder was starting to throb every time she shifted it and they had come in a cab. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense.” Lt. Colonel Rhodes spoke for the first time; he was a slim man, but his grip was firm. “It’s the least we can do. Besides, Toni loves to show off the new car.”

“My companion is just down the street …” Claire began to make an excuse when Natasha appeared at her elbow.

“Are you okay?” Concern filled Natasha’s green eyes and something else, a flash of danger. “Did someone hurt you?”

“I tripped,” Claire lied. She didn’t want to advertise the fact someone just pushed her into traffic. “You know me. Trouble follows me around.”

Natasha knew Claire was anything but clumsy; she looked Claire over from head-to-toe and gave a small nod. “Ah, Lady Stark,” she said. “I see I owe you and your companions some thanks for aiding my friend.”

“Natasha Romanov. This day gets curiouser and curiouser.” Lady Stark cocked an eyebrow and gazed at both of them. “Well, well. By all means let me show you my new toy. We can have you home in no time.”

The car was a work of beauty. Gleaming gold accents over red metal, a small exhaust just below the bumper on the back, two bucket seats in the front and a leather covered bench second row under a metal canopy big enough to seat three comfortably. Rich walnut wooden dash with knobs and gauges, a ramrod straight gear shift topped with a silver handle done in a intricate design. Leaving Peter to make his own way back, Claire didn’t bother not to gawk as she allowed Lt. Colonel Rhodes to help her slide into the bench, Natasha and Miss Potts on either side. An argument ensued over who was driving, Rhodes bringing up Claire’s recent brush with death and the fact that she didn’t need a second one so soon. Lady Stark pouted, but she let Rhodes win, settling in the passenger front seat.

“Best hold onto your hats, ladies,” Toni said, grinning widely and passing around goggles. “I’ve lost far too many to the winds.”

No belch of smoke came as Rhodes started the car; the engine simply turned over and purred, vibrating the whole body. As he peeled out into traffic, Claire felt a smile spread across her face at the sense of controlled power behind their forward motion. Lady Stark glanced back and saw her.

“Just wait until we get out of this mess and really get going. You should see her at the track.”

Claire gave her address to Lt. Colonel Rhodes, and soon they were rolling through the streets, heads turning as they passed. Rumor had it that Lady Stark was a genius, the inventor of any number of advanced machines including the steam generator that ran her factories. She was said to own her own dirigible to travel the continent and that her house was a testament to the future. Riding in this marvelous machine, Claire found she could believe all the tales.

There was no talking on the trip; the wind whipped past Claire’s face and she simply took off her hat, holding it firmly in her lap so she didn’t have to worry about it. Lady Stark keep her eyes on Claire and Natasha, obviously enjoying Claire’s overt enjoyment of the experience. Natasha, on the other hand, kept her face impassive, only the slight relaxing of her jaw any sign that she was also finding the trip pleasurable.

All too quickly, they pulled up in front of Claire’s small townhome and she spared a hope that Barney wasn’t home at the moment because he would be far too excited to meet Lady Stark. Lori opened the door for Lt. Colonel Rhodes who insisted on carrying Claire into the drawing room, curtseying deeper than usual when she realized who was with them. At a look from Natasha, Lori ran off to the kitchen to get tea and some cakes for the whole company. Surveying the comfortable room, Claire worried how out of vogue the style was; Lady Stark was sure to have the best of everything. The Barton house must seem so quaint.

“Now let’s have the story,” Lady Stark said as soon as Claire was settled on the settee. “There’s no way you tripped. I saw two men behind you when it happened, didn’t I Rhodey? Said they were crowding you.”

“What Toni is trying to say is that we got a good look at them if you wish to call the constable. Damn young bucks not caring about anything but themselves, preening before a crowd,” Rhodes said. “It would serve them right to be smack down a peg.”

Claire wasn’t convinced; the push had seemed deliberate to her. “I didn’t see anything,” she said truthfully. “I was looking at that magnificent horse and then I was falling.”

“Hammer doesn’t deserve that piece of horseflesh,” Lady Stark groused. “He only got it because his father was a friend of the breeder. Maybe he’ll have to sell it after that dismal last offering. A steam glider? Not a good idea.”

“A description would be helpful,” Natasha said, stepping aside as Lori brought in a ladened tray. “In case we decide to make a complaint.”

“Tea, Lady Stark?” Claire asked, hiding a wince when she turned too quickly.

“Oh dear, may I see?” Miss Potts stood and walked behind the settee. “Toni is forever dislocating her shoulder; I’ve become very adroit at checking.”

“‘Tis nothing,” Claire assure her. “I can move my arm freely, so I imagine it is a sprain or pull. I dislocated mine once in Giza, so I know how it feels.”

“Call me Toni,” Lady Stark said. “Anyone who’s been to Mongolia and Egypt is too interesting to waste on formalities.”

“Claire is Lady Clinton’s granddaughter,” Miss Potts supplied.

“Ah! Well, that explains it. Your grandfather’s book on Chinese mathematics was eye opening,” Toni said.

They took cups of tea and small cucumber sandwiches as Natasha grilled Rhodes, eking out every detail of what he’d seen on the street while seeming to carry on a gentle conversation. Toni Stark asked question after question about Claire’s adventures, clearly interested in Claire’s answers.

“Lord Coulson, Milady” Lori said from the doorway. Phil entered the room, his gaze sweeping across the people gathered there before he went down on a knee and held Claire’s hands.

“Are you alright?” he asked, ignoring the others.

“I am well. Lt. Colonel Rhodes gave me a hand.” She felt the blush rise in her cheeks; Phil’s eyes were intense and stirred a warmth in her chest at his concern. “How did you know?”

“I told Peter to stop by and inform Lord Coulson,” Natasha said.

“Of course you did.” Claire sighed; she should have expected that. She addressed her next remarks to Phil. “As you can see, I am whole and hale. My shoulder aches but I can lift my arm and wiggle my fingers, so nothing happened that a nice cold compress won’t handle.”

“Lord Coulson!” Toni said. “Why am I not surprised to run into you … again?”

Phil, ever the gentleman, stood and took Toni’s offered hand. “Lady Stark. Considering that Miss Barton is my fiance, where else would I be?”

“Engaged! In town but a few days and already off the market. You wound me, Coulson; my heart is broken.” The smirk on Toni’s face belied her words; she was teasing. “Whatever am I to do? All the best gentlemen are already spoken for.”

“I didn’t see the announcement in the paper,” Miss Potts said as Phil turned to her. “Congratulations, Lord Coulson. I’m very happy for you.”

“It’s Phil, remember? And the announcement is due out tomorrow; we wished to ensure that Lady Clinton knew first.” He gave Miss Potts a genuine smile. “It is nice to see you both safe and back in London.”

At Claire’s inquisitive look, Miss Potts explained. “Lord Coulson was a great help when we were in Cairo. For some reason,” Miss Potts coughed into her hand and cut her eyes to Toni, “we lost our travel documents and were stranded in a very dangerous area. Without him, we might have been in great danger.”

“A feat for which I’ve yet to thank you,” Lt. Colonel Rhodes said, offering his hand. “I told them to wait for me at Selfridge’s, but heaven forbid Toni do what she’s told.”

“Like I was supposed to pass up the opportunity to meet with the finest inventor in all of Egypt?” Tony complained. “He’d figured a way to make an energy source as small as this saucer.”

“Rhodey,” Phil said as they shook hands, ignoring Toni. “It’s been too long. And I think we’re more than even now considering.”

“Miss Barton helped herself,” Rhodey answered. “That move she did got her out of the way. I was almost too late.”

“Claire is quite capable; you should see her shoot a bow. She never misses.” Phil’s glance cut over to Claire, an amused half-smile on his face.  The praise made Claire warm inside and shiver outside. Or maybe it was the acceptance in Phil’s eyes; he’d never judged her for being exactly who she was. “Now, I’d like to hear what happened. From start to finish, if you have time to stay.”

* * *

Nick met Phil in the hallway, the lines of his face curved in surprise. His clockwork patch spun and tightened in on Phil, magnifying all the frustration mirrored in the clench of his jaw.

“What’s happened?” Nick didn’t bother with niceties and Phil was glad he had an old friend like Nicholas J. Fury, the kind of man he could ask for help to bury a body. Which he actually had done on a few occasions.

“Someone tried to kill Claire today.” Phil waited until they were in Nick’s study to let the words burst out. “Pushed her into traffic on Bond Street.”

Giving a low whistle, Nick changed directions and went to the bar, pouring them both a generous finger of whiskey before he replied. The burn of the quality liquor helped ground Phil’s need to take action.

“They’re moving faster than expected. You must have really thrown their plans into disarray.” Nick didn’t try to get Phil to sit, just let him pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Any idea of who?”

“I’ve got detailed descriptions of two young dandies who crowded her towards the edge and Claire admits she felt a hand in her back. They tried to make it look like an accident, but they faded away immediately. Rhodey was there, thank God; he pulled her back or she’d be under the wheels of a conveyance.”

“She’s well?” Nick asked and that was what Phil needed to hear, the concern of a friend who understood how fearful the incident was.

“She bruised her shoulder, no more. She’s handling it much better than I am, truthfully.” He sighed, took another sip and sat down. “I need to calm down before I can be of any use.”

Nick topped off Phil’s glass and left the decanter on the table beside him. “Nothing wrong with righteous anger, Phil. You could do with a little more of that in your life.”

It was an old argument; Nick encouraging Phil to experience the passions of this world when Phil prefered the mystical paths that brought serenity and calm. “Well, it looks like you got your wish; I want to find those two and pummel them with my bare fists.”

Nick cocked his head; his eye piece twirled, extended then contracted. “You truly care for her, don’t you? I had thought you chose her because she is a sensible choice.”

“Of course I care for her. I’ve known her since we were children. We played together, grew up together, our families are intertwined.” Phil didn’t think it a big surprise.

“No, I mean you care about her. You are worried about her and I’d bet you’ve spent the afternoon with her to assure yourself she is alright.” Nick leaned back, steepling his fingers and staring at Phil.

“She is a human being, Nick; I didn’t purchase a fiance at a store or order her up,” Phil said with a laugh. “Besides, I don’t think I could find someone like Claire if I’d set out to. She’s smart and strong and very unconventional. She sits a horse better than I do, shoots better than you do, and can best us both in battle strategy. There was this one time when she wanted to see the inside of this Mosque -- the most amazing frescos and unique architecture. Barney had some tentative and dangerous plans that we immediately discarded  and I couldn’t talk them out of it, so Claire figured out how to get us all inside. Pure genius, deflect and distract.”

He fell into silence for a moment, thinking about that adventure. Claire, who’d been in her Clint phase, had made more than a passable boy in her pants and jerkin. Lady Clinton had bemoaned the loss of Claire’s long locks, but Phil had to admit she looked quite fetching with her short hair.

“Sounds like we should be recruiting her,” Nick said.

“No.” The word popped out before Phil had time to think. “I mean, maybe. Lady Stark and Miss Potts were with Rhodey today; Claire has an appointment to call on Stark Manor early next week. The information she gathers could be useful.”

Nick leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “She’s already in the thick of this Phil. Best to let her know what’s happening and give her the choice. From what I can read, she’d prefer that.”

He didn’t want to even think of Claire putting herself in danger, but Fury had a point. “I’ll talk to her. Thanks for the whiskey and the talk,” he said, standing up. “If we’re still on for tonight, I need to get going.”

“Eleven p.m. sharp. Now, go do that thing you do -- circles in the sand or ink or whatever,” Nick said, shooing him out. “Let me know what you find out.”

That made Phil laugh; Nick knew more about Phil’s practices than anyone. He just liked to pretend not to because it amused Phil. “Assuming I can calm down enough.”

“That’s one thing you’ve got wrong, Phil. Emotion doesn’t make you weaker; it makes your desire for answers stronger. Let what you’re feeling work for you; don’t fight it.”

Phil took his hat and coat from the butler. “When did you get so smart?”

“Always have been. Just don’t like to advertise it.”

* * *

He smoothed the sand counterclockwise first, four complete rotations, then clockwise for seven. The wooden tool, flat and even, never touched the edge of the box as he carefully cleared his mind, repeating the words of meditation.

“The wise man is one who knows what he doesn’t know.”

Switching, he picked up the stylus and rolled it between his fingers, measuring the weight and finding the fulcrum point. Closing his eyes, he held it suspended directly above the middle of the box and waited.

“Countless words count less than the silent balance.”

Nothing came. He breathed in, long and slow filling of his lungs, and paused before the falling exhale. Pause at the bottom, then back in through the Manipura point, air flowing up to his third eye. The pauses grew longer, and he tried to fall into the space between, calm and soothing, but he couldn’t find his center.

“Curving back within myself, I create again and again.”

Claire’s face floated behind his eyelids. He shoved it aside. Claire’s scent, a crisp spring rain, teased his nose; he shook his head to clear it away. A memory -- Claire running alongside a hardy pony and swinging effortlessly into the saddle -- popped full color in his brain.

“If you want to know me, look inside your heart.”

The next line resonated; he stopped resisting and let Claire fill his mind. The stylus spun and dropped, starting a line that curved sharply into a tight spiral. A second line followed the first, swirling in and joining the first. More lines, coming in from the edges, disrupting the others, breaking the smooth continuity. Phil let them flow, turning his third eye inwards, looking inside his own heart and drawing the threads together.

When he realized his hand had stopped moving, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at the pattern. His own line was easy to identify; he’d been set on his path early so it was a recognizable shape with only a few unexpected turns, the most recent just days ago when Claire’s way came into parallel with his for the second time. Hers had multiple disruptions; one early, the accident that took her parent’s lives, another when her grandfather died. The third was most interesting; two other lines crossed at the same point, and a new line began, faint and wavering, curled around Claire’s. Six weeks, Fury had said. The house party.

Phil’s fingers hovered over the sand; a weight settled on his chest, his wrists ached and a foggy cloud descended. A scrabble of fear, indistinct darkness looming over him, and he jerked back.

All the anger he’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the surge of fierce protectiveness that overtook him now. No wonder Claire didn’t want to talk about the baby’s father. Phil clenched his hands to stop his fingers from shaking with rage. Whoever had hurt Claire was going to pay.

“Jasper!” Phil called. His friend didn’t take long to enter the room. “I need a list of everyone who attended Lord Davenport’s party six weeks ago. Complete bios of all the men including the servants.”

“I’ll get started right away.” Jasper threw a concerned look at Phil. “Anything particular I’m looking for?”

“Someone who doesn’t take a woman at her word.” Phil ground his teeth and pushed up out of the chair. He saw the moment it registered on Jasper’s face; metal hand clicked against the edge of the desk, pressing into the wood.

“Maria can canvas the female servants; man like that, they’ll know. I’ll have a report for you by the morning.” Jasper was good;  his talent was to move unnoticed in all the levels of society  “Maria will be like a dog with a bone; you know how she feels.”

“Good. Put all our resources on this, call in any favor you need. I want to know who he is and the best way to take him down.”

* * *

Loki wiped the blood from his lips with a swipe of his tongue, his teeth retracting as he let the body slide to the floor.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” the man said, his voice shaking with fear. He cowered away as Loki turned red eyes his way. “I had nothing to do with the attack. I swear on my mother’s grave. We split up and I followed the redhead to the other store; I didn’t even see what happened.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Loki purred, exerting his will and holding the minion in his thrall. “But you still failed me. You were to keep her safe.” Cold, pale fingers, long and slim, stroked the trembling man’s jaw, tilting his head to the side. “Claire Barton is too important to me. You, on the other hand, are dinner.”

* * *

Rumlow stood his ground, not flinching in the face of Pierce’s towering anger. He could hear the murmuring of the others behind him, but they deserved the tongue lashing and the price they were going to pay. They had to learn control or they would never last.

“I do not tolerate incompetence.” Pierce’s voice was calm and icy cold. That didn’t bode well. “You have been given a gift, to rise above the station you were born into, be as powerful as the strongest among us. And yet you act like animals, not the men you could be.”

The newest recruits still thought their power came from the wildness; they didn’t understand that it was the man in union with the wolf that made them more.

“So if you’re going to be animals …” Pierce nodded to Rumlow. “Toss them in the pit. The survivor gets a second chance.”

With a flick of his head, Rumlow had the two removed from the room, leaving him alone with Pierce.

“Are they making them dumber or am I crazy?” Pierce asked. It was a rhetorical question.

“My sources say that Lady Stark’s attack dog, Rhodes, saw who did it. Coulson’s already talked to Fury and they’ve put feelers out,” Rumlow said.

“Well, that simplifies things. Fury has a good track record; we can let him expend his energy.” Pierce sighed. “One damn thing. That’s all I ask. After everything I’ve done for this country, I just want one thing for myself.” Brock didn’t say anything; he’d learned that keeping his mouth shut was the key to Pierce’s good graces. “Let me know the minute Fury has anything. Oh, and kill the survivor. If they can’t even protect a slip of a girl, they’re of no use to me.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “May I be blunt, Lord Coulson?” Pierce turned his fierce gaze fully upon Phil.
> 
> “Please do.”
> 
> “It concerns me that he’s taken an interest in Miss Barton; Laufeyson’s left a trail of broken hearts and seduced women all over London. He especially likes to set his sights on those who are already taken, some sort of game he plays.”
> 
> “Are you warning me to protect Claire from his clutches?” Phil asked. “Because, if you are, then you don’t know her very well. Claire is more than capable of taking care of herself, Lord Pierce, a fact that anyone with intentions towards her would do well to remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, two chapters so close together! I'm on a writing bandwagon lately

The Hare wasn’t a typical East End pub; the taproom was filled with sons of the nobility, slumming in Bethnal Green before finding a gaming hell or opium den to carry them through the rest of the evening. Phil had heard rumors of a boxing ring where, for enough money, a man could beat another to death, no questions asked. Sipping his watered down ale, he kept a watch on the group of three young dandies who were fast on their way to be drunk enough to lose more than their wallets if they weren’t careful.

Jasper tapped the wooden table top, his fingers clicking even beneath his glove. He was wearing a rough woolen coat, frayed cuffs on his coarse linen shirt, and he actually stood out as someone who belonged in this area of London. “If they don’t leave soon, they won’t be able to walk,” he groused. Jasper didn’t touch alcohol; he had decided opinions about wastrels like these boys who had all the opportunities in the world and frittered them away in drunken excess.

“A mouth loosened by drink is more likely to spill secrets,” Phil said, as much to annoy his friend as to reassure him. Jasper was as grounded as a man could be, believing what he could see and touch over everything else. That was why he was so good at gathering information; leaps of fancy were not his cup of tea. “Besides, it will be much easier to follow if they are too soused to notice us.”

As if on cue, one of their prey pushed back his chair and managed to stand up by stabilizing himself with his hands on the table top. His friends followed, or tried to; one ended face down on the wood and had to be helped by the other two. Before they took two steps, the pickpocket at the bar had relieved them of their money pouches and tucked her windfall into the bosom of her dress.

There seemed no need for stealth when the people they were following bumped into the door jamb, stumbled down the steps and talked loudly of their destination, a well-known whore house just a few blocks over. Phil and Jasper followed discretely more to assure themselves that no watchers were about to see what they were doing. That meant a few seconds lag between the time the three men turned down an alleyway between buildings and when Jasper entered the dark expanse.

“Watch out!” Jasper shoved Phil back against the alley’s wall just as a shot rang out, a flash of a muzzle illuminating a dark figure as the bullet sped past them and slammed into the chest of the man who had been about to jump them from behind.

Yanking his own gun out of his coat pocket, Phil spun and aimed, shooting at a second man who loomed up out of the darkness, moonlight glinting off of his yellow eyes. With a snarl, the man dodged and lunged forward, agile and fast, dropping to all fours as he began to change.

“Get down,” Nick ordered and Phil followed without hesitation, pivoting to the side. The silver bullet struck the werewolf in the forehead and he instantly fell, blood splattering onto the cobblestones.

“The others?” Phil paid no heed to the two dead wolves that were shifting back to men. Searching the alleyway, he spied three bodies further down, near where Nick was standing. Pieces were ripped apart and strewn in a wide radius. “Damn it all.”

“This one is still alive,” Nick said. One of the boys, no more than seventeen at the most, was barely breathing, his chest torn open and blood pumping out. Heedless of the mess, Phil went down on one knee and bent over the quickly paling face of Lord Davenport’s youngest son.

“Who paid you to push Claire Barton?” He asked. The eyes that looked back at him were filled with fear and pain.

“Hurts. Can you …” Coughing up blood, the boy’s body trembled; death was coming and coming fast.

“Who paid you?” Phil leaned closer. “Tell me and I’ll help you. I promise.”

“Rollins. Jack Rollins,” he answered. His breathing grew more labored, lung wheezing as they filled with blood. “Make it stop hurting, please.”

Laying his thumb on one cheek, his middle finger on the boy’s forehead, and his pinkie on the other cheek, Phil drew in a deep breath and put weight on the pressure points. “That which has ended is that which is beginning. Know peace.”

One more gasp at life, and then the boy stilled, his eyes going glassy as life drained away.

“We need to move,” Nick told Phil. “The shots will draw attention; I know one of the detectives in this area. I’ll stay and handle them. You go find out who Jack Rollins is and stop him.”

Phil couldn’t have agreed more.

* * *

“Claire, darling!” Elizabeth Clinton swept into the foyer, unpinning her hat and laying it on the table beneath the mirror. She carried her considerable bulk with regal bearing, her grey jacket buttoned tight over her ample chest.

“Grandmother.” She should have been expecting the visit; Lady Clint had problem started packing the moment she read the letter. “That was a quick trip. I’ll have your room aired out and fresh sheets put on the bed.”

“George is bringing the carriage around and he’ll see the trunks brought in. I hope you’re ready; we have so much to do, the first of which is to decide on a designer for the gown. And the trousseau. You’ll need a number of outfits befitting your new status as Duchess. Ruth and I agree; she’s coming in tomorrow morning in time for the ball. We’re putting on a united front. Between the two of us, we’ll face down those dragons for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Claire protested even though she knew there were other mothers and grandmothers who wouldn’t be happy about a potential suitor for their precious offspring being taken off the market by someone of Claire’s stature. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“Of course I did, dear. It’s not every day I get to rub my granddaughter’s excellent marriage into Lady Carylse’s face,” she replied with a smile. “And speaking of the ball, you’ll need a new gown for that as well. Won’t do to show up in the same old frocks; you’re top of the peerage now. Only the best and the latest will do for you.”

“I have ordered a dress already. From Madame Alastair. Quite in fashion I assure you. Natasha picked it out.” She followed along in her grandmother’s wake.

“Ah, good. Natasha has excellent taste. Now, about the wedding …”

“We’re getting married in a few weeks at Waverly, as I mentioned in the letter, so I can travel with Phil to Scotland. I can’t wait to get back to the highlands and do some riding.” Claire tried to derail the planning, but to no avail.

“Of course you are dear. That’s why I’ve booked an appointment at the furrier. You’ll need a warm cloak and muff and hat for the journey. Even in May, it will be cold in the mountains. And Coulson plaid for a new riding outfit … yes, that needs to go on the list.” Without stopping, Lady Clinton waved for a cup of tea and settled into a chair at the breakfast table. “I’m thinking violets; you do so love purple. And the lavender will be in bloom down by the pond. We’ll get Father Jeffries to do the service; he’ll be thrilled with knowing of the union. Such a good thing for the town and his priory. We’ll have to invite the Magnussons and the Denethalls or I’ll never hear the end of it …”

Claire sighed and picked up a plate; she filled it up with breakfast from the food laid out on the sidebar. This was going to be a long day and, for once, she was hungry.

* * *

“Lord Phillip Coulson, Duke of Argyll, and Miss Claire Barton.”

Phil swore the whole room turned to catch a glimpse of the two of them, paused at the top of the staircase. Despite the warnings from his mother and Lady Clinton, he hadn’t truly believed there would be this much interest in him. He hadn’t been focused on the Ton lately; the past two days, he’d had little free time, caught up in his hunt for Rollins and the list of names Jasper had supplied of guests at the house party. Maria had gathered quite an interesting collection of rumors and possibilities about the men, but Rollins remained elusive, a name without a history. Phil’s frustration had been growing; he hoped that tonight he’d get some insight into the players in the game he’d yet to understand fully.

Standing next to him, Claire tensed, her hand tightening on Phil’s forearm. He knew she looked beautiful; from the moment he’d seen her in the hallway of her home, Phil had been distracted by her mere presence. Her dress fit her body perfectly, smooth waist that flared out over her hips, the smaller bustle at the back a more natural shape. The deep purple made her eyes bluer, and a blush colored her cheeks. Her hair fell in artfully arranged curls, one long golden blonde loop lay on her bare neck, the shoulders of her dress just brushing the strands. Around her neck she wore the simple gold chain with a cluster of amethysts Phil had given her, a dangle of small gems cradled between the curves of her breasts that showed above the gathered neckline of her bodice. That cleft, a line of growing shadow, captured Phil’s attention now as Claire’s chest rose and fell; he was seized by the desire to slide the pad of his thumb along her collarbone and down to that valley.

“Lady Ruth Coulson, Dowager Duchess of Argyll, and Lady Elizabeth Clinton, the Marchioness of Durbey,” the footman announced.

A gentle nudge from his mother got Phil moving into the crowd below; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nick in his black tie and tails talking to Miss May, another of Fury’s operatives. The room was a sea of fashion, from the most daring of French styles to full crinolines with puff sleeves popular ten years ago. Most of the men had opted for basic black, but colorful waistcoats were by no means scarce, nor were opulent mustaches and mechanical accessories with the younger set.  Phil prefered a classic tuxedo, crisp white tie and gloves, silk hat and thin tailored pants. His only pop of color was a tucked bit of purple silk in his pocket, a nod to his bride-to-be.

“Lord Coulson!” Antonia Stark was the first person to greet them as they mingled around the edges of the dance floor. “Claire, you must tell me the name of your modeste. That’s the style I’ve been trying to get Pepper in for ages. Well, weeks at least.”

“Lord Bernard Barton, Viscount of Columbridge, and Miss Natasha Romanov.” The footman continued calling out names as people arrived.

“You think it’s not too much? It was Natasha’s idea,” Claire said, turning quickly to both sides as Toni looked with a critical eye.

“Much better than pounds of petticoats or those awful iron contraptions. Is that the flexible girding for the bustle? Amazing new polymer. You can sit down in it, right?” Toni ran her fingers along the curve of the bustle, feeling the ribbing underneath.

“Well if getting engaged didn’t make you the talk of the town, having Lady Stark touching your backside will,” Natasha said as she stopped beside Claire. “Full ballroom, everyone watching, best behavior. Remember? And you,” she turned to Toni, “behave or I’ll find Miss Potts.”

“It’s science,” Toni said with a huff of indignation. “Besides, I believe that’s more your interest than mine, or so I hear.”

Phil could have sworn the temperature dropped a full ten degrees from the icy stare Natasha gave Toni. In return, Toni raised an eyebrow and smirked, knowing her remark had hit home. A silent showdown between two very strong willed women; Toni was in ruby red taffeta swirled with black velvet patterns, slim lines that hugged her body in a way that was just this side of indecent. Natasha wore deep emerald, her split skirt covering a pair of black leather pants and thigh high boots that buckled up the sides.  A black underbust corset framed her waist, the green silk bodice riding low on her shoulders.

“Lady Stark, may I present my brother, Barney Barton,” Claire said, breaking the stalemate. “Barney, Lady Antonia Stark.”

“Ah, yes, I, um,” Barney practically tripped over his tongue as he took Toni’s hand and bowed his head. “So very nice, I mean, I’m honored to meet, I’m a follower of your work.”

Toni bit her lip to hide a smile. “Nice to meet you as well, Lord Barton. Claire has told me such interesting stories of your family’s travels and she says you’re a bit of an inventor yourself. Always good to find people who think outside the box.”

“That’s definitely me,” Barney said, his face flushing with pleasure at the compliment. “In fact, I’m working on a new idea right now. Your water treatment steam converter was the inspiration. A machine that uses steam to mix milk and coffee for a smoother flavor. It can also distill the coffee down to its essence ...”

“Barney, I’m sure Lady Stark doesn’t want to hear about …” Claire tried to cut in.

“Oh, but I do.” Toni wrapped her arm around Barney’s. “I adore coffee. Live on it, practically. Why don’t you tell me everything? Since Rhodey and Pepper have abandoned me, I would love a glass of sherry and some conversation.”

“Well, that’s scary,” Natasha said as the two walked off together.

“Might be good for him,” Claire replied. “If Toni takes an interest in his ideas, maybe he’ll forget some of the crazier ones.”

“And who knows? I certainly wouldn’t mind a smoother, stronger cup of coffee,” Phil offered. “Speaking of drinks, would you ladies like something? Punch? Sherry? Champagne?”

He and Natasha had an unspoken agreement; one of them would be with Claire at all times. Just in case another attempt was made to get to her. He wasn’t going to take any risks.

“Punch would be lovely; it’s already warm in here.” Claire opened her fan and swept it through the air, her eyes sparkling up at Phil. “Natasha can babysit me until you get back.”

“Miss Barton, Miss Romanov. How lovely you both look tonight.”  Tall, dark and European, the man was impeccably dressed, dark green embroidered vest fitted tight to his body. Phil knew who he was, but had never been introduced. “And I don’t believe I know your companion.”

“Baron Loki Laufeyson, Lord Phillip Coulson, the Duke of Argyll,” Natasha said.

“Ah, the man of the hour! Seems I waited too long and missed out on the lovely Miss Barton’s hand. Congratulations.” Laufeyson’s smile was oily and far too smug; Phil couldn’t help but notice the way Claire took a small step closer to Phil’s side.

“Our families are old friends,” Phil answered the unspoken question. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“So I never had a chance,” Laufeyson said.”She’s a lovely young woman. I hope you take good care of her.”

The way he spoke about Claire, as if she wasn’t even there, annoyed Phil. European aristocracy, that’s what he’d heard of Laufeyson, arrogant to a fault, but a highly sought after guest because of his witty, dry humor. Many a mother had set her sights on having a daughter with a fancy title -- and many a woman’s name had been linked to Laufeyson since he’d taken up residence in London.

“Oh, I think it’s Phil who needs taking care of,” Claire replied. She obviously didn’t like to be ignored either. “Poor man’s been away so long he’s forgotten what it means to be English.”

“Well, then he is lucky to have you, my dear.” Loki nodded towards Claire. “Perhaps I can claim the first dance?”

For some inexplicable reason, Phil didn’t want Laufeyson to lay a hand on Claire. A surge of protectiveness flared up, but he knew Claire was quite capable of answering for herself.

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised Phil the first dance of the evening.” Claire was kind but firm. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Miss Romanov, if you’re free?” He held out his hand and Natasha tilted her head in agreement.

“I would be delighted,” she agreed.

“Laufeyson.”

With a quick inhale of breath, Claire stiffened, her whole body freezing in place. It lasted only a few seconds, but Phil noticed; he slipped his hand onto the small of Claire’s back.

“Pierce.” Laufeyson’s voice was frozen, sharp as a knife.

“Lord Pierce,” Natasha, on the other hand, was silky smooth as she smiled at the new comer. As deadly as her namesake, Phil wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that tone. “How delightful to see you. May I introduce Lord Coulson?”

“Coulson.” Pierce nodded ever so slightly, much less than the difference in their titles required. “I wanted to congratulate you on the good news. You and the lovely Miss Barton make a handsome couple.”

The path curved in front of him and opened up, the facts falling into place. He remembered what Fury had said about a coming war and the names of those at the house party. A wave of hatred flowed into his chest; only through years of practice did he manage to tamp it down. Alexander Pierce was one of the most powerful men in the country, a close advisor to the Prime Minister; going after him would mean taking the time to do it right and careful planning, two things Phil did well.

“Thank you,” Phil acknowledged, omitting PIerce’s title on purpose. “I am a lucky man, that’s true. Claire’s the perfect match for my wandering ways.”

“Claire, dear, there you are!” Lady Clinton interrupted, stepping right into the middle of their little group, heedless of the tension in the air. “You should see the food tables; Agatha has outdone herself this year. She has the most amazing little petit fours that would be perfect for the wedding; come with me and see.” She paused, as if she’d only realized that both Pierce and Laufeyson were standing there. “Ah, gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse us. My granddaughter and I have business to attend to; Natasha, darling, you too. I want to talk about color schemes with Ruth and there are the loveliest blooms in the conservatory.”

She looped her arms through Claire and Natasha’s and dragged them off, cutting a swath through the growing crowd towards a side door. Glancing back over her shoulder, Claire threw Phil a helpless look and he shrugged in return.

“Lady Clinton is a force of nature,” Laufeyson said with a laugh. “But then you are used to dealing with her, I imagine. That will make things easier.”

“She’s a formidable woman, that’s true. I quite like her,” Phil replied. “And you, Lord PIerce, I believe you know Lady Clinton and her late husband? Didn’t he used to serve in Parliament with you?”

“A good man. Although we often disagreed on issues, he held to his convictions. That’s a talent in short supply today.” Pierce looked at Laufeyson as he spoke.

“Indeed, I agree, Alexander. Far too many who blow with the wind. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The dark haired man nodded in farewell and moved off, gliding gracefully through the press of bodies.

“May I be blunt, Lord Coulson?” Pierce turned his fierce gaze fully upon Phil.

“Please do.”

“It concerns me that he’s taken an interest in Miss Barton; Laufeyson’s left a trail of broken hearts and seduced women all over London. He especially likes to set his sights on those who are already taken, some sort of game he plays.”

“Are you warning me to protect Claire from his clutches?” Phil asked. “Because, if you are, then you don’t know her very well. Claire is more than capable of taking care of herself, Lord Pierce, a fact that anyone with intentions towards her would do well to remember.”

He turned and left Pierce standing there, a direct cut, before he gave into the urge to smash his fist into the smiling jackanapes’ face. Claire wasn’t a game piece on a board to be moved at anyone’s will, and Phil was going to be sure everyone understood that fact.

~+~

The petit fours were delicious, lovely lemon cream cakes with sugary frosting topped with marzipan flowers. Claire had three, plus a full plate of little mince tarts, pickled beets, and chived egg sandwiches; Natasha looked at her once when she picked up the third cake, but Claire didn’t care. For once, she was hungry; if it was for an odd selection of food, well, at least she was eating and not nauseous.

After a quick walk around the conservatory where her Grandmother went on about the merits of hothouse blooms, they returned to the ballroom which had only grown more crowded in their absence. As the first strains of the music shifted into a dancing tune, Phil appeared by her side, taking her elbow and leading her out onto the floor. Claire loved to dance almost as much as she loved riding; the rhythm and movement were meditative in ways sitting quietly never was for her. She could let go and let her mind wander as her body flowed through the steps, her eyes caught in the whirl of colors, her ears filled with the time signature.

This dance was different; as Phil settled a hand on the small of her back and took the other in his warm palm, she felt as though a part of her slid into place. No awkwardness, no confusion over who was leading, they moved as one from the first step, flawlessly following the beat, parsing the complicated dance with their bodies. The people around them shrank into the periphery, her attention captured and held in Phil’s blue eyes. Warmth blossomed inside of her: in her chest, in her cheeks, and between her legs. Her breathing grew shallower, faster, as he twirled her under his arm and caught her back to him. There was only the two of them, no one else, the dance something older, more primal.

When she was nine, they’d been in Mongolia and the local chieftain had hosted a party the night before they left for home. The adults drank a clear liquid that burned like fire and made them laugh louder than usual; Claire had watched in wonder as musicians struck up a tune with the tobshuur and drums, voices raised as hands and feet thumped out a beat. Her grandparents joined the whirl of bodies around the fire. Even Phil and Barney had joined in, dancing with the chief’s daughters. No pretentions, nothing formal, just music on a level that spoke directly to human nature.

“I believe the dance is over,” Phil murmured in her ear, bringing her out of her daze. “I’d like to save our second one for a waltz.”

“Yes. I mean, I would like that as well.” Claire was sure her emotions were splashed across her face for everyone to see, so she retreated to sarcasm, her favorite mask. “It’s nice to know you learned to waltz out in the hinterlands or wherever you were.”

“Oh, I learned many things on my travels.” Phil’s eyes darkened. “I shall enjoy sharing the knowledge with you.”

“May I cut in?” James Rhodes asked, hand held out. “The Gavotte is one of the few dances I do well.”

“Of course.” Claire smiled and switched partners.

Despite his protestations, Rhodes was an excellent dancer and he had a wicked sense of humor, keeping up a running monologue as they moved about the floor, making her laugh out loud.   After Rhodes, Barney claimed her for a quadrille with Rhodes and Toni; Barney almost stumbled twice, too caught up in watching Toni to pay attention to the steps. A few of Barney’s friends claimed dances and then Claire sat out a polonaise where Laufeyson partnered Natasha and Phil danced with Virginia Potts.

Then it was a waltz and Claire walked right by Laufeyson to take Phil’s hand and let him guide her into position. For the first time, Claire understood why some people complained that the waltz was too sexual. Close enough to see the beginning of stubble on Phil’s jaw, Claire’s thighs brushed against Phil’s as they began to sway together, three steps, then three more. Two of his fingers rested on the bare skin of her back where her dress scooped down. If she turned her head to look at him, their lips would be but inches apart, and the thought brought the unbidden image of crossing that distance right here on the dance floor.

She’d call it magic, this energy she felt building around them, and she suspected Phil wouldn’t laugh. He’d probably just smile, all his secrets simmering in his eyes as he told her the way was the way. Maybe he’d bend down, tilt her chin up, and brush his lips across hers. Or they’d keep dancing until they merged into one fluid motion, no end or beginning.

“Countless words count less than the silent balance between Yin and Yang,” Phil said as the song came to an end. Only then did Claire become aware of the crush around her, how hot the room had become with packed bodies and burning candles. She wavered, coming back to her body from wherever she’d been. “How about a cup of punch and we sit the next one out?”

“I’d like that.”

She found herself standing between her grandmother and Virginia Potts, sipping at the sweet juice, wishing for a cup of tea instead. There was a cloying taste in her mouth, and she already had spots of the sticky stuff on her new dress from being bumped multiple times by people maneuvering their way around them. The heat started in her stomach, radiating up into her head until it felt like everyone was dancing, her head spinning even though she was standing still. She tried to listen to the conversation -- something about leatherwork and lace and horses -- but she couldn’t make sense of it as a wave of dizziness overtook her. Draining her glass, she looked longingly at the open doors and the patio beyond. It was bound to be cooler there.

Then she heard Lord Pierce’s voice, calling Lady Stark’s name, and Claire was sure she was going to be sick. She stumbled towards the darkness outside, threading her way out the doors and into the night. The temperature drop felt like heaven, a cool breeze running across her overheated skin. Down the stairs and into the grass, her only thought was to not let someone see her void her stomach; rumors started from far less.

Hands grabbed her arms; the ground whirled away and everything became choppy, disjointed.

_Looming over her in the darkness, the shadow put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Ssssshhhh.”_

She stumbled  over a tuft of grass as the men pulled her along, her bruised shoulder protesting. Lashing out, she kicked and felt her foot connect with a knee; a grunt and muffled curse followed.

_Heavy weight pinned her legs, hands around her wrists. “So beautiful” murmured in her ear as he exhaled._

“Stop it, you bitch.” A leering face, rough cheeks and long scar. She swung her fist and ploughed into the already crooked nose with a satisfying thump. Suddenly free, she ran, or tried to run, darting behind a hedgerow and disappearing into the garden.

_Rocking mattress beneath her, she floated up and out of her body, feeling nothing._

“Miss Barton?” Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones. “What has happened? Are you well?”

She tried to wrench away from his grip, but he was stronger than he looked.

“What have they done to you?” A cool hand on her forehead, a flash of anger in his eyes. He leaned forward and sniffed along her neck. “Damn fools. They’ve given you too much."

_“So perfect. I knew you would be.”_   
_Claire watched him withdraw, from her place above the bed, everything cloaked in shades of black and grey._

A sharp pain and she jerked awake. Laufeyson’s dark head was bent over her wrist, his mouth on the soft inside skin. Like being tugged from the inside, she felt the confusion recede, draining out of her through her arm.

“What?” She tried to ask more, but a wave of exhaustion overtook her.

Laufeyson licked, the two small wounds closing under his tongue. “There. Do not worry. I shall take care of those responsible. Sit here. Your Miss Romanov will be along shortly.”

Nausea roiled through her stomach; a chill shook her body. But her vision cleared and the world came back into focus just as Natasha came around the corner.

“There you are. God, you gave us all a scare.” Sitting down on the bench … Claire didn’t remember how she’d even gotten here … Natasha caught Claire’s hands in her own, rubbing them together. Then her head came up and she glanced around. “Someone’s coming. Let me do the talking.”

Three young men came into view; dark and handsome, Brock Rumlow was in the lead followed by two others from Barney’s circle of friends.

“Miss Barton, Miss Romanov,” Rumlow said, coming to a stop and eyeing Claire.  “You are well, Miss Barton? Do you need any aide? Barney will hit me if I didn’t take care of his sister.”

“I’m afraid Miss Barton over did it. Too much dancing in a room with too many people,” Natasha supplied. “We decided to take the night air to cool off.”

“Ah, it is quite the crush in there. We are doing the same,” Rumlow said.

For a second, moonlight shone on Rumlow’s face and Claire could swear it shimmered and shifted, his eyes going yellow and his lips curled back in a snarl. But then it was gone, a trick of the light, she hoped.

“Still, I would worry about the two of you alone out here. Can we escort you back inside?” He offered.

There it was again, the flicker in his eyes. A moment of dizziness returned, and Claire clenched her hand around Natasha’s.

“That won’t be necessary,” Phil said, coming from the opposite direction. “I appreciate the sentiment, however. Thank you for looking after my fiancee’s well-being, Mr ….”

“Rumlow. Brock Rumlow. I’m a friend of Barney. I’ll leave them in your good hands, your grace.” Rumlow bowed his head in Phil’s direction. “Good night.”

Phil waited until the other men had left before he helped Claire to her feet, letting her lean on his strength. When she started to speak, he cut her off. “Not here,” he said quietly. “Jasper’s getting the carriage; we’ll meet him at the back gate. Let’s get you somewhere safe then you can tell me everything.”

His body was warm against hers, and Claire let the worry go, ceding him control. She felt protected and safe; Phil wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a sigh, the kiss ended. She stared, her eyes wide, lifted her hand and splayed her palm on his chest. “I can see you,” she breathed.
> 
> “So much more, I promise,” he told her. “When you’re ready. We’ll take this as slow as you need.”
> 
> “And if I don’t want to go slow?” She tilted her head, a smiled curling at the edges of her mouth. “If I want to make a good memory?”
> 
> “When you’re ready,” Phil said. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Claire describes what happened at Lord Davenport's party. Her memory is vague, but it is definitely rape. The scene happens after Natasha leaves the room and ends when she comes back.

The small salon was warm, fire burning in the hearth to ward off the lingering chill of the evening. Maria had seen to fresh glasses and ice next to the decanters. Phil poured himself a finger of brandy and filled a second for Natasha; Claire was drinking tea. The first sip wasn’t enough to settle Phil’s anger; he needed a second and then a third before he trusted himself to speak.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? When you left the ballroom?” He sat down on the loveseat next to Claire and covered her hand with his. Bringing her to his home had made the most sense; Maria had seen to the warding herself and she was always thorough. With his mother in residence and Natasha staying as well, Claire’s visit was perfectly respectable.

“I don’t remember much I’m afraid; somehow, my punch was drugged. All I knew was that I was hot and wanted to go outside. There were two men … I think I broke one’s nose? Then I think Laufeyson was there and he …” she stopped, absently rubbing her wrist and glancing at Natasha who gave her a nod of agreement. Instead of speaking, she held out her arm towards Phil.

Two small scars, round, evenly spaced; Phil knew exactly what they were. “He drank from you.”

“He said they’d given me too much and he’d take care of it. I think he … sucked the drug from my system.” She squeezed Phil’s hand. “He’s a vampire, isn’t he?”

“A very old one, yes. One of the Lords of the Undead,” Phil said. Nick had been right; the best avenue of advance was to tell Claire the truth. “Why he’s taken an interest in you and your brother, I don’t know.”

She didn’t startle, just took the declaration in stride. Claire had always been like that; present her with the unusual and she’d ride hell bent for leather right into it with no questions asked. Neither did Natasha react; she merely cocked her head and waited to see what Phil was going to do next.

“That explains Lori,” Claire said.

“Your maid?” Phil asked.

“She’s a vampire,” Natasha explained. “We just found out a day or two ago. I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

“There’s a vampire in Claire’s house?” Phil’s anger spiked. “They’ve put someone inside,  watching your every move.”

The brandy glass rattled on the table, moving towards the edge. He took a deep breath and calmed down.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Claire exclaimed. “Why would Laufeyson aid me?”

“He was at Lord Davenport’s party.” Phil broached the subject. “As was Lord Pierce.”

She froze, staring straight ahead. Eyelids slipped closed; she swallowed and he could see her visibly steel herself. It was Natasha who made the first move, walking over and putting a hand on Claire’s arm.

“Tell him. It’s time.” She spoke softly, a gentle stroke on Claire’s skin. “I’ll be right outside.”

With that she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Claire still hadn’t moved except to cross her arms over her chest and wrap her hands under her elbows, hugging tight. A sigh and a long exhale followed; she turned towards the fireplace, giving Phil her back.

“You seem to already know,” she began with a tiny quiver in her voice.

He wanted to comfort her, but she was putting distance between, unable to look him in the eye. Setting down his drink, Phil chose the chaise, leaning against the back and swinging a leg over each side.

“Would it bother you to sit?” He patted the cushion front of him. An intimate arrangement, to be sure, but they had been closer many times when they were young. And as husband and wife, they would be even closer still. “I’ll only touch you if you ask me to.”

Hesitating, she glanced at the room in the mirror, eyes searching for something. Then she decided; she sank down in front of him, facing forward. With no eye contact, she eased back until she lay on her side along his chest.

“Saturday night’s dinner ran late,” she said. “I had a couple glasses of wine with the meal but was fine. The food was very rich and filling; Lady Davenport has a new chef she wanted to show off.”

Every word vibrated through the connection of their bodies; Phil couldn’t separate the story from Claire’s tremors. So he didn’t, opening his senses and searching for the path, hoping for enlightenment.

“After dinner, the men went off to have drinks and cigars; we repaired to the lady’s solarium and had brandy all around. I don’t know if it was the wine or the brandy, but one of the drinks was drugged. I suspect it’s the same drug they used on me tonight, but in a smaller dose.” She began to relax into him as she talked. “I began to feel ill at my stomach, overheated, and very sleepy, so I retired to my room. I insisted Natasha stay up and mingle; no need for us both to miss out because I was sick.”

Her hand took his and drew his arm around her; he closed the other into a protective circle.

“I’m sure I locked the door; Natasha walked me up to check on me and she agrees she heard the key turn as she left. It gets fuzzy from there. I can barely remember most of what happened and I’m grateful for that. I don’t want to get those memories back.”

Fear. Pain. Doubt. That was what he was getting, long curving lines that curled around Claire’s path and constricted tight. He started taking deeper breaths, his chest rising and falling slowly; soon he noticed she was matching the speed, falling into a meditative state with him.

“He was … heavy. And I couldn’t move. At points it felt like I left my body and was floating above, merely watching someone else.” Her laugh was short and bitter. “That’s how I knew who he was. I got a good look at his face when he finished and got up, just before I blacked out entirely.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I woke up the next morning, in my gown, covers pulled up, as if nothing had occurred. If it weren’t for the child, I could convince myself that it was all a bad dream.”

Claire’s path strengthened, the emotions releasing their hold. Tension left her body with the words, the telling of the story cathartic. For a few breaths, they were both silent.

“It was Alexander Pierce,” she said with surety. “Natasha has made a few discreet inquiries -- she’s very good at that as you seem to know -- and I might not be the first girl he’s done this to. She has a list of names, all of them drugged and plagued by nightmares of something big and menacing holding them down in their bed. I don’t know his motivations; maybe he just enjoys the power of taking a helpless woman against her will.”

“I suspect there’s something else at work as well.” Phil spoke for the first time. “He and Laufeyson are engaged in a clandestine power struggle. Somehow you and Barney are of interest to both of them.”

“Laufeyson is the leader of the vampires.” She made the connections quickly. “Pierce is a werewolf then? That doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have the look.”

“You are always a step ahead of me,” Phil said, shaking his head fondly. “You know about vampires and werewolves? And look?”

“I saw Lori being intimate with a werewolf.” Her head jerked up. “Oh. How could I be so silly? It was Brock Rumlow. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. I wonder how many of Barney’s friends are not human?”

“Darby and Crane are vampires. I didn’t know about Rumlow, but if he is, odds are that his two buddies from tonight are as well.” Phil rested his chin in Claire’s hair after she lay her head back on his shoulder. He sensed they were at a crossroads, a moment of some sort of revelation, but he didn’t know what.

“Remember when we were in Marrakech and I tried to convince everyone that the guide was evil?” The question wasn’t at all what Phil had been expecting.

“Yes. You claimed he had …” he ground to a halt. “He was a werewolf. You could see him for what he was.”

“Actually, a werecat. Panther of some sort.” She half-shrugged. “I learned to not say anything from the reaction. Grandmother taught me how to not react and who to trust with the truth.”

“Lady Clinton has the sight. Of course she does.” It didn’t surprise him at all. “So Pierce has a pack of wolves at his disposal, but you don’t know what he is?”

She shook her head. “He seems to be human. A powerful greedy bastard, but human. That’s why I don’t want Barney to know; he’ll go head first at Pierce, try to batter down the door. He inherited Dad’s temper.”

Knowing Barney Barton, Claire was right. He’d do exactly that, storm into Pierce’s home and demand satisfaction, and Pierce would squash him without a thought. “I know exactly how to take him down,” he told her.

“With your friend Colonel Fury?” she asked, tilting her head up and smiling at him. “Natasha’s very good at her inquiries.”

Her eyes were so very blue in this light, her lips pink and full. The connection he’d felt while dancing still lingered; it wasn’t just physical although the desire had surprised him with its intensity. Their paths were merging faster than he’d expected, two becoming one. Still, he hesitated, unsure of her reception if he moved too fast.

Claire closed the gap, slanting her lips across his. Keeping his arms loose, he let her take the lead; he expected tentative but her kiss was determined just like she was. Nothing hesitant, her mouth was warm and inviting; Phil could fall into her and keep going; a whole new universe opened up, Claire spiraling in front of him, a well of emotion. Her strength, her fears, her dreams, he felt them all in a heady rush as she invaded his mind, taking up residence at the very heart.

With a sigh, the kiss ended. She stared, her eyes wide, lifted her hand and splayed her palm on his chest. “I can see you,” she breathed.

“So much more, I promise,” he told her. “When you’re ready. We’ll take this as slow as you need.”

“And if I don’t want to go slow?” She tilted her head, a smiled curling at the edges of her mouth. “If I want to make a good memory?”

“When you’re ready,” Phil said. “So am I.”

A light tap on the door interrupted what Claire was about to say. They rearranged themselves until they were sitting side-by-side then Phil said, “Enter.”

“Colonel Fury is here,” she announced as she came into the room, opening the door for the tall imposing figure that followed. A quick glance at Claire and Natasha relaxed; whatever she’d seen there satisfied her. She didn’t miss the fact that Phil’s hand was covering Claire’s, nor the closeness of their proximity.

“Miss Barton, I hope you are well?” Fury took the hand she offered and bent over it. “We were all worried about you. Lady Stark had to be restrained from driving over immediately to check on you; I assured her that tomorrow afternoon would be fine.”

“Thank you, sir,” Claire replied, withdrawing her hand. “I am as well as can be considering.”

“We have much to tell you,” Phil said. “Claire knows all; you may speak freely. In fact, she has give us two more names to investigate. Their maid, Lori, is working for Laufeyson, and Brock Rumlow is a werewolf. And the man we’re looking for is Alexander Pierce. He’s the second party.”

Fury looked stunned; his eyepiece spun and focused in on Claire, his eyebrows raising high upon his forehead. “Pierce? Man’s on the Prime MInister’s cabinet. I know him, Phil. Damn it, he’s privy to almost every secret of the government. Are you sure?”

“He forced himself upon me.” Claire sat up straight and squeezed Phil’s hand. “I’m carrying his child. I’m sure that has something to do with the attempts on my life.”

“Holy hell.” Fury strode to the liquor cabinet and made himself at home with the whiskey. “Son of a bitch.” He drank a long pull. “My sincerest apologies for the males of the species, Miss Barton. Some of us are sadistic bastards. I will do my best to put an end to Pierce’s crimes.”

“I’ve already crafted a plan,” Phil said. He knew his friend well enough to see the warning signs; when Nick got angry, hell would pay along with the supernatural community. “There’s still some missing pieces but now that we know who to focus on, things should progress faster.”

“And Laufeyson is involved as well? What’s his game?” Fury refilled his glass, turned and filled Phil’s. Natasha waved him away when he offered.

“He drank from Claire this evening, cleaned out the drug her kidnappers had given her. We don’t know what his motives are; he always has his own agenda.”  It bothered Phil that he couldn’t see the way it all fit together. What did Laufeyson and Pierce have in common? And where did the werewolves fit in?

“Be careful, Miss Barton. One bite isn’t that dangerous; he’ll sense you when you’re near but he has no control over you. It takes three to enthrall a human. Perhaps that’s his plan,” Fury said.

“You can rest assured, he won’t get a second chance,” Phil said, emotion clear in his voice.

“Is it true you can kill a vampire with a stake through the heart?” Claire asked. So calm, despite the events of the evening; Phil’s esteem for Claire kept growing.

“Rowan or ash is best and you have to hit exactly in the right spot, but yes, it’s one of the ways to end them,” Fury explained.

“Good. I shall make some special arrows then. And don’t worry, Colonel. I never miss.” She smiled, determined and sure of herself. “I’ll sleep better at night if I put an arrow through one of them.”

“Damn fine woman you’ve got yourself, Phil. If I’d met her first, I’d have given you a run for your money,” Fury said with a laugh. “Miss Barton, I will do my best to be sure you have your shot.”

* * *

She gnawed on her bottom lip as she stared at the door. She kept her treads soft as she’d come down the darkened hallway, halfway hoping to not see a crack of light. But there it was and now she paused, second guessing herself. Not that she’d didn’t know what she wanted; she was worried about being too forward. Phil knew her, true, but that was years ago. Did he really want Claire as she was or a woman worthy of being a duchess?

Tapping gently, she waited. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge and she didn’t intend to start now. The ladies of the ton might believe that a young woman had no sexual urges, but Claire had experienced so many cultures with different ideas. Tribes where women went bare chested, peoples who celebrated sexuality, cities run by women, and places where sex wasn’t dirty and something to be never discussed. Her desires didn’t shame her; she had just wanted Phil for so long that her nerves were casting up all kinds of doubts. Childish love morphed into respect and friendship which was changing into something else entirely.

The door opened; Phil stood silhouetted by the light inside; his jacket and coat were gone, his shirt falling free, open at his neck. Claire’s words died in her throat and she stood suspended in the moment. Stepping aside, Phil opened the door wider and invited her in with a hand. She crossed the threshold into the well appointed room, large four poster bed dominating the space.

“I noticed your mother was in the garden room,” were the first words that came to mind. “This is the duchal suite, isn’t it?”

Phil stood back and let her wander around. “She’s adamant that I take the title. Plus I think there are too many memories in this room for her. This is the first time she’s been in the house since father passed.”

“She does love her garden,” Claire said, finally turning to face Phil. “I can understand her hesitancy. Grandmother has moved into the forest room for the same reasons.”

His eyes slid over her body, the silk of her dressing gown covering the white cotton gown Natasha had sent for. It wasn’t seductive at all, more suited for a virginal girl. “Claire,” he murmured, holding out a hand to her. “Come here.”

She went, letting him lead her to a small chaise by the curtained window, where he sat down just like before, only this time he cradled her back to his chest so she could extend her legs outwards.

“I think,” he said, slipping his hands around her waist and holding her, “that we have been on this path for all our lives. Those years when I thought of you as a little sister made us what we are now, building a background together to write the next part of our path upon. We were always a good team, you and I; we just needed to grow separately so we could come back stronger.”

It was so easy to rest against him, close her eyes and fold into the sound of his voice. “You, maybe, but I never had your gift for foresight. I bumbled my way through life’s choices, making wrong turns along the way. This, however, is not one of them.”

“Oh, I didn’t see you coming; I was surprised the day you showed up on my home … what? Six days ago? Has it been that short a time?” Phil chuckled. “But this is the right path for us. Things would not be falling so easily in place were it not.”

“If this is easy, I would hate to see what you thought hard.” Claire gathered up her courage and scooted back so that her body was flush against his. She could feel his hard length and a throbbing ache started between her legs at the thought of him touching her.

“I think we both know hard when we feel it,” he said with a laugh. “You are not a shy and retiring type, Claire Barton, or you wouldn’t be knocking on my door late at night.”

“We are to be married and, truth be told, I am not a virgin nor do I need to worry about getting with child.” She said it lightly, as if it didn’t matter. “And I admit to being curious. I have heard things, Phil, of those who studied the Way and their … prowess?”

“You read your grandfather’s books, I take it,” he said. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“He told us they were off limits; of course I snuck in and read them.” She smiled at the memory. “Barney blushed and made me close the first one with pictures. I had to go back later and finish it.”

“Then you know there are many ways to enjoy the pleasure of joining.” Phil became serious. “There is no need for me to hover over you or hold you down.”

Weight pressing into her, the rocking of the bed … “I trust you,” Claire told him. “You will not hurt me.”

“I am going to make you feel good,” he promised. “Take you to the heights so you can fly for me, Claire.”

He untied her sash, opening her robe. Strong hands grazed up her arms, tilted her head to the side and his mouth found the pulse point in her neck, sucking a light kiss on the spot. She sighed and he chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin.

“I knew you’d be like this.” His fingers slipped along her shoulders and eased the neckline of her gown and robe down. “Always did crave adventure, new experiences.”

Little trails of heat followed his progress. He went back to kissing, his fingers untying her gown so his hands could slip under the cotton. Drawing spirals on her skin, he circled closer to her breasts, teasingly near then diving underneath to cup the full curve. She moaned, nipples tingling, and arched up into his palms.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

He moved slowly, stirring her up with his touch as he explored her aureoles and the puckered nub of skin in the middle. Thorough, taking in every curve, the valley in between, he didn’t miss an inch. By the time he was done, she was shivering, curling her feet up and bending her knees so she could press her thighs together. Her pulse was throbbing between her legs, growing more insistent with each swirl.

“Did they teach you that in your studies?” Claire turned her head so she could see Phil’s eyes.

“There’s a temple where I learned how to bring you right to the edge and keep you there for hours.” Phil’s hands were on the move, down to her thighs, gathering up the full fabric so it rose up her ankles and calves and over her knees. “The nights are long in the winter in Argyll. We’ll have time to explore all the things I’ve learned.”

“Well,” she gasped as Phil tugged her legs apart, easing one off each side of the chaise. “I wasn’t sure a few of those pictures were actually possible. I suppose we can test them.”

Phil’s hands pushed her gown all the way to the top of her thighs, his thumbs dragging along the inside. “We’ll give them all a go,” he promised as he leaned in. His lips brushed hers just as his fingers parted the folds of her sex and pressed against the slick flesh. From mouth to clitoris, heat burned through her, tiny clenches of muscles, tremors that ran down her limbs. Phil hadn’t been lying; he patiently explored every ridge and crevasse, finding every spot that made her jump and gasp. He catalogued the curve of her lips and the depths of her mouth. Claire writhed, unsure of what she wanted, just the sense that she was almost there.

It was Phil’s finger pressing inside of her that made her tip over the edge into a wave of pleasure that rolled through her. He kissed her throughout her orgasm, fingers opening her wider. As the last of the tremors rolled through her, he stood, lifting her up and laying her on the bed. Then he stepped back and began undressing as she languidly watched.

She’d seen a nude man before. It was hard not to when she shared tents with her brother, when baths were bowls of water and a sponge or a cold water stream. She’d even seen Phil before, when they were young and swam in lakes together, played in the sun with the other kids. In other cultures, where sex was not something relegated to dark rooms, people celebrated bodies, their statues with full breasts and erect penises.

But seeing Phil now, here, wasn’t the same. He was muscular, lean chest and defined biceps; long legs, a thatch of dark hair and a large cock, hard and jutting out. She expected him to come to her, but he circled the bed and laid down beside her on his back and pushed up on one elbow.

“I’ve always said you ride a horse better than anyone I knew.” He smiled. “This way you can set your own pace.”

It took a second for her to understand, her mind still fuzzy with the aftereffects of her first climax. But she did, and she smiled as she realized what he was doing, giving her control of what happened next. Slipping off the bed, she dropped her robe on the floor in a puddle and the let her gown slither down so her body was revealed. Phil’s eyes widened in appreciation and she blushed, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“I exercise too much, I know.” She began the litany of excuses she told herself. “And shooting makes my arms too muscular.”

“Claire.” Phil’s voice stopped her. “You’re beautiful. I like muscles and curves. I like your body. I want you.”

“Oh.” She shifted back onto the bed, crawling over to him on her knees. “No one’s ever said that to me before. Well, I have heard the “want” part before but that was just Bobby Morse wanting under my skirts. I had halfway decided to let him then grandfather fell ill.”

“His loss.” Phil laid flat on his back with one easy push of her hand. “Your path and his didn’t cross.”

“So, I can do anything I want?” She was thinking of a few specific things she’d read, wondering if they were true.

“You’re on top,” Phil agreed. He certainly didn’t appear to mind the idea.

“Alright then. Let’s start here.” She leaned over, ending up on her hands and knees, and kissed him. She had discovered that she loved kissing Phil, little nips and quick bites, sucking in his lower lip and darting her tongue along the skin. From this position, the nipples of her breasts brushed along Phil’s chest; she moved so both were scraping back and forth, deliciously beginning to tingle all over again. He lightly rested his hands on her waist, holding her gently.

When she lifted her head, her breasts swung closer to his mouth and she pushed forward enough so he could take one in his lips and suckle. The action shot a charge right to her clitoris, her nipple hardening beneath his tongue. She rocked back and forth to ease the ache, moaning as she began to spiral up again, muscles tensing. He switched to the second breast, feasting up on it until she made herself pull away, sure she was going to come again if he didn’t stop.

“Not yet,” she said, voice breathy. “I want to try something first.”

He merely raised an eyebrow and said nothing as she began to kiss a line down his chest to his navel then followed the trail of dark hair to his aroused cock. Her hair trailed across his skin; once she’d reached her objective, she sat up and looked her fill, not bothering to hide her curiosity. He was thick and longer than she expected, his head flushed red with drops of pearly fluid leaking out. She caught one with the tip of her finger and popped it into her mouth; he groaned as if in pain at the sight.

“Was that wrong?” She quickly asked.

“No, no, that was … you’re going to be the death of me Claire if you don’t get a move on. Men can only take so much before we …” He broke off in another groan as she dipped her head and licked another drop with the tip of her tongue. “Oh, God, yes. That’s good. Very good.”

To hear that sound from his lips, the words that she had made him say, only empowered her to try more. She circled it with her fingers, traced the curve up and back down, cupped the sacks underneath. Then she tasted more; Phil jerked with each touch, his hands fisting in the quilt. He was … salty and smelled of musk. Warm on her tongue, Heavier than she expected; she hesitated to try taking him in her mouth, unsure exactly how that would work.

“Next time,” Phil promised.

Claire straddled him; just like riding astride, she squeezed her knees for balance and lifted up. Phil offered his hand and she nodded, letting him guide his cock inside of her so she could slowly sink down. She felt stretched and full, taking it all in as she settled against his hips.

“Oh.” She wiggled, getting used to him being joined with her; she experimented with circles and clenching her muscles.

“Claire” he moaned, his hands holding onto her hips. “Can I …”

“Yes.”

He began to move, slow and easy; she picked up the gait and moved with him, downstroke to his thrusts. It was a bit like riding a horse; as their motions synced, so did the throb of her own arousal. Sitting upright, she used her thighs and it felt like Phil was hitting deep inside, sending pulses of heat throughout her body. She chased that throb liked she’d run a race, leaning forward, balancing her hands on Phil’s chest. Hair curtained around her, sticking to her face as she began to sweat. Phil’s breathing sped up, Claire’s own matching it as the pace increased. Spiraling towards the edge again, she felt Phil tense, muscles in his neck straining as he held Claire tight as he came. Collapsing on top of Phil, she shivered, tension coiled between her legs. Then his fingers found her clit and rubbed, hard, and she shattered.

“I should go,” she said after a few minutes. Not that she wanted to; the bed was comfortable and Phil was warm. “Before someone sees me.”

“Mother’s on the other side of the house; only Natasha is on the floor and, trust me, she and Jasper and Maria know everything anyway. None of them will care.” Phil wrapped his arms around her … loose and easy to get out of hold if she needed. “Stay.”

Since she didn’t want to leave, it was an easy decision. “I can do that.”

“A good night’s sleep will be helpful. Tomorrow, Nick and I are going to find Jack Rollins and see why he’s paying people to hurt you.”

“Jack Rollins?” Claire pushed up on her elbows. “I know a Jack Rollins. He’s the son of the Waverly’s groundskeeper.”

“Old Hank? That man has been alive forever?” Phil asked. Henry’s longevity had long been a mystery to all of them.

“Henry Rollins. Jack’s been helping him the last few years; plan is for him to take over so Hank can retire.” She rolled the information in her mind. “Why would Jack want to hurt me? It doesn’t make sense. Jack’s a bit of a rake; Hank had his hands full with him. But I can’t imagine why he’d be involved in this.”

“He’s at Waverly now?” Phil asked.

“Yes. Grandmother said he’s working on trimming up the hedges for the wedding,” Claire said. “We can ride out in the morning. And don’t even think of going without me.”

* * *

“You shouldn’t have killed them so quickly,” Lorelei said, lounging against his desk. “They might have yielded information.”

Loki’s temper was frayed to the edge of unraveling. Whoever this third party was, they were making a power play; Loki was irritated by this interruption of his well-laid plan. The royal families had been in an uneasy truce for the last few centuries. At least until now.

He glared at his progeny; she thought she could work her seduction on him? She knew better than that. “What do you know? And think carefully about your answer. I am in no mood for your game. Prove you’re worth something and I might let you walk out of this room.”

“I want something.” She flipped a curl back over her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by Loki’s threat.

“This is what I like about you. Others promise they’ll be loyal to me; you I can count on to be loyal to only yourself. What do you want?”

“Natasha Romanov. When this is over and you have the child to raise, I want Romanov to make mine.” Lorelei shrugged and looked at her nails. “She smells divine. And she would make a good addition to the court.”

Weakness, Loki thought, this compulsion Lorelei had for strong women. One day she’d pick the wrong one to set her eye on. He saw no downside to letting Lorelei make her play; either she’d turn Romanov who would be an asset, or Romanov would kill Lorelei and Loki would be proven true.

“Fine. But you take responsibility for her. Now, tell me what you know.”

“Jack Rollins is the man hiring all these thugs.” She strolled around the desk and poured herself a drink. “Rollins works out at Waverly, the Clinton estate. But that’s not the interesting bit. The question is where the money came from for the payoffs.”

“Not Rollins, I take it.” Loki let her have her moment.

“According to the barkeep of The Old Red Cow, Rollins met with a man. Didn’t get a name, but he spoke English with a thick German accent.” She seemed inordinately pleased with herself.

“And did Rumlow tell you where these Germans were staying?”  Loki loved knocking her down a peg; all this time and she still thought she could keep secrets.

Her finger paused on its slow circle of the glass’ rim then she hid her surprise behind a mask of nonchalance. “He doesn’t know yet. But he did let drop that Pierce’s is very anxious about protecting the child especially since his only heir at the moment is a distant German relative, a Baron Von something or other.”

“So the pack is turning on Pierce.” Loki let that run through his mind, slotting it into his plans. “Excellent. That will make Pierce even more vulnerable.  We must move quickly; perhaps this Rollins can be turned to our advantage. Tomorrow we’ll find him and see.”

* * *

“I want this Rollins now!” Pierce slammed his hand on his desk. “Find him and bring him to me.”

Rumlow kept his face impassive, let Pierce’s anger roll over him. The man might be one of the most important men of the royal families, but he was losing control. The whole plan to beget an heir with the Barton girl had been fraught with problems from the beginning. Pierce was so sure of his power that he’d underestimated the response of the rest of his family. There were plenty who would like to see Pierce’s plan fail. But he couldn’t see them as a threat.

“I have a lead,” Brock told him. Actually, he knew exactly where Rollins was. As soon as he found where the Germans were staying and talked to them about switching sides, Brock planned to put Rollins’ right in Pierce’s path. “We should have him by tomorrow.”

“Good. And contact your person inside Laufeyson’s household. I want to know what he knows and what he was up to with Claire tonight. If he’s planning on enthralling her, I’ll have to deal with him sooner rather than later.”

That’s something Rumlow sincerely doubted. In a straight on confrontation, the vampire was older and much more powerful. “Of course.”

“The supernatural community has been hiding in the shadows too long. It’s time we came out and staked our claim. Once I consolidate my position, I’m going to bring us into the nineteenth century. No more hiding.”

“Long live the king,” Rumlow said.

“Damn right. Long live the new king,” Pierce agreed.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, damnit, Clint,” Barney said, using her childhood nickname. “Don’t go all self-sacrificing on me. That’s the big brother’s job.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Well then, get over there and eat your breakfast so you can go blackmail Jack into tell you where he got the money.”

Of course, leaving first thing in the morning turned out to be impossible. Phil knew he was partially to blame; waking with Claire’s curves snuggled up against him made him loathe to remove himself from the warmth of his bed. He’d thoroughly enjoyed teaching her the finer points of morning sex, slow and easy, rolling her onto her side and bringing her to climax before he slid inside. So responsive and uninhibited, Claire was the strongest person Phil knew, facing the shadowy fears left behind by the bastard Pierce and creating new and more pleasurable memories with him.

 

So they were late rising. Phil rang for Jasper as soon as Claire was back in her room and sent him off with word to Fury of the day’s expedition. With a smug grin on his face, Jasper laid out traveling clothes and refreshed Phil’s water ewer without saying a word. He didn’t need to; the way he fussed over the choices, discussing which blue matched Phil’s eyes, was Jasper’s way of saying I told you so.

 

By the time Phil made it to the breakfast room, passing a smiling Maria on his way, his mother, Lady Clinton, and Natasha were already at the table, plates full from the sideboard, discussing the latest gossip from the ball last night.

 

“There you are!” His mother called. “We’d begun to worry, what with last night’s activities and all.”  For a second, he thought she meant his night with Claire and his chest squeezed tight. “Poor Claire! Such a fright she must have had. Natasha says that she is doing well, sleeping soundly. What is going on, Phil?”

 

“I intend to find out, mother. Count on it,” he promised. Filling up a plate of his own with sausage and boiled eggs, toast and jam, he sat down at the head where Maria had a full cup of coffee waiting for him.

 

“Well, I don’t believe Claire stumbled into traffic, do you? Two brushes with danger so close together? No something’s up,” Lady Clinton said. “I sent Frank around to get Barney. I imagine he’s in this up to his neck. Always is. Boy needs to find a better class of friends.”

 

“Agreed,” Phil’s mother replied. “And we need to talk to that Laufeyson fellow. Lady Winchester saw him leave the ballroom right after Claire. Almost like he was following her, Deanna said. He’s got a reputation, you know; I wouldn’t trust him at all.”

 

“That Rumlow fellow Barney is always with?” Lady Clinton glared over at Natasha. “He’s a violent type. Got danger written all over him. Now I remember that young women like that type, but Claire’s got a good head on her shoulders … she’s engaged to you, Phil … and I wonder if she rebuffed Rumlow’s advances at some point.”

 

“Rumlow has been a gentleman around Claire,” Natasha interjected. “Last I heard, he has a steady young woman that he’s courting. He even offered to help us last night.”

“Well, maybe not him, but there’s that Crane fellow and the other one … Darren? Darby?” Lady Clinton, once she got rolling, was difficult to derail. “Did they catch the two men from last night, Phil?”

 

“Not yet, Lady Clinton. I’ve sent my man out to make inquiries on the state of the case.” Phil searched desperately for another topic of conversation. “Actually, I have some calls to make of my own pertaining to that very matter.”

 

“Oh, good,” his mother said, breaking off a bit of toast and nibbling on it. “That very scary Colonel Fury? I so hope you bring him in on this. He looks intimidating and that’s what we need right now.”

 

“And that excellent James Rhodes. He’s already saved Claire’s life plus he’s got Antonia Stark’s ear. She has connections everywhere, thanks to that father of hers. We should call on them. Or maybe they’ll call here? Antonia seemed very concerned last night.”

 

“We should have the cook prepare something special. I imagine we’ll have many callers. You’ll stay, Liza? We can present a united front,” Lady Coulson said.

 

Phil pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose as a headache began to form. Just what he needed, help from the two matriarchs. He’d have to take some time to minimize the damage they could do. At least they hadn’t mentioned …

 

“... see that Lord Pierce hanging around Claire last night?” his mother was asking. “That concerns me, Liza. You know what they say about his preferences.”

 

“Don’t worry about Alexander. I can handle him,” Lady Clinton declared.

 

“You think you can handle everyone, Gran,” Barney said as he sauntered in the doorway and made a beeline for the sidebar. He’d probably already eaten but Barney could put away more food than any man Phil had ever met and he never seemed to gain weight. “As much as I enjoy Lady Coulson’s table, may I ask what is so important you sent for me this early?”

 

“Actually,” Phil began, concocting a story that would keep all of them out of his way. “We need you to …”

 

“Someone’s trying to harm your sister.” Lady Clinton ran over Phil’s words. “They’ve tried pushing her in traffic and kidnapping her last night. We’re making a plan for how to find out who and what to do about it.”

 

“Wait. Someone pushed her? I thought …” Barney dumped his plate on the table beside Natasha and pulled out a chair. “Damn it, why didn’t she tell me? Does everyone know but me?”

 

“Watch your language, young man!” Lady Clinton snapped. “We might all be family here, but there are ladies present.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Barney ducked his head.

 

“First thing is to look at that motley assortment you call friends. The newer batch you’ve been running with, racking up gaming debts.” Lady Clinton gave him a pointed glare. “Don’t give me sass, boy. You know some of them are bad seeds. Question is which one is either behind this or working for someone who is?”

 

“I don’t …” Barney started to deny it. He looked to the others for help, but no one spoke. Natasha’s look was cold and downright feral. “Okay, okay. Rumlow, Gregg, and Albertson can be pretty rough, but Brock’s definitely the leader. The other two get into a lot of fights, and not just at the boxing ring, but I’ve never seen Brock with noticeable bruises. Darby and Crane prefer their entertainments more bloodless: gambling, the theatre, slumming it. I never seem them until after dinner. I think they sleep all day and stay out all night.”

 

The accuracy of Barney’s portraits surprised Phil; he’d assumed that Barney was fairly clueless about the men around him and it turned out Barney was actually very astute. For someone who didn’t know about the supernatural world, Barney was doing a damn fine job of picking the werewolves from the vampires.

 

“As far as Claire is concerned, honestly, I think only Brock has said more than good morning or tipped a hat at her. Brock was at Lord Davenport’s house party when Claire got sick. I remember they were on the same croquet team that afternoon, and Brock helped me pull the carriage around when we left early. But he wouldn’t hurt Claire; Brock’s got a girl that’s he’s courting and he’s hung up on her. He mentioned just a day or two ago that she was worth the risk.” Barney shrugged and forked up a sausage. “I’d look more at that Laufeyson guy. He was sniffing around Claire’s skirts at Lord Davenport’s; she turned him down flat. In fact, I’ll go over there today and roust him to see what he’s up to.”

 

Last thing Phil wanted was Barney going off half-cocked; he was going to have to nip this in the bud and he knew only one way to do so. “If I can get a word in edgewise,” he said, drawing their attention, “Lord Fury and I have discovered the name of the person who paid to have Claire pushed. Jack Rollins. We plan to travel to Waverly today to question him.”

 

“Henry’s son?” Phil’s mother exclaimed.

 

“Jack?” Barney slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the china and sloshing tea from the cups. “That son-of-a-bitch! Always playing an angle, never satisfied.”

 

“Barney!” Lady Clinton spoke. “As much as I appreciate your concern for your sister, language!”

 

Barney settled back in his seat, glancing at his grandmother before continuing. “Let me go with you, Phil. I know how to make Jack talk. Know some things he doesn’t want public knowledge. Sorry, ladies, but Jack Rollins is a rake and a womanizer with a twisted sense of humor. He’d do something like this for fun. Don’t know where he’d get the money, but if he had it, he’d love to sit back and watch what happened.”

 

“So this is why my ears are burning?” Claire walked into the room, perfectly calm and put together. “Did it occur to anyone that I might want to be present for a conversation about me?”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Barney stood and walked over to her. “You went to Phil for help instead of me? I’m your brother? Don’t you think I can take care of you?”

 

“Of course you can, Barn.” She tucked her palm along the smooth freshly shaven line of his jaw. “These people are powerful. I knew you’d go all white knight to take them down. Just like you punched that one kid in Cairo … what was his name again? … because he questioned if I was a boy or girl. You’re always there to take on all my demons.”

 

“Chauncy. Seriously, what kind of name is Chauncy?” Barney asked. “You didn’t tell me then either. I had to find out when Chauncy repeated it in front of the others.”

 

“So Dad wouldn’t use the belt on you again. I egged Chauncy on and put ants in his bed. You didn’t deserve to get punished.” Claire smiled at her brother. “If you go after these people and try to knock them down, they’ll fight back. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“You don’t think I can take them,” Barney complained.

 

“I don’t think any of us can take them. Not alone. Maybe not all together,” Claire admitted. “I don’t want to take you down with me.”

 

“Ah, damnit, Clint,” Barney said, using her childhood nickname. “Don’t go all self-sacrificing on me. That’s the big brother’s job.”

 

“Well then, get over there and eat your breakfast so you can go blackmail Jack into tell you where he got the money.” She patted him on the cheek and wandered over to the food. Filling up her plate with multiples of everything, Claire carried it over and sat down, her grandmother’s eyes following her every move.

 

“So, Phil and Barney are off to Waverly with that Fury fellow. What are we ladies to do while they’re gone?” She asked.

 

“Lady Antonia Stark,” Jasper said from the doorway. “And Miss Virginia Potts. Shall I show them in?”

 

“Might as well,” Phil said. “The more the merrier. And tell Maria we have new guests.”

 

* * *

 

“Explain to me again how I let you talk me into this?” Fury put his hand on the fender of the sleek red car, finding his footing. “That is one infernal machine.”

 

“Are you comparing my automobile to hell?” Antonia asked as she pulled off her leather driving gloves. “The Pirate King over here can’t handle a little speed.”

 

“The roads in the country are not made for driving like that,” Fury groused.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve reinforced the suspension and created a new material for the tires. He can deal with a few bumps and uneven surfaces.” Tossing her driving helmet into the car, Antonia patted the loose curls back into place. “Got you here in good time, didn’t we?”

 

“I found it exhilarating,” Claire said. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair spilling out of the netting she’d used to pull it back. She knew Phil was watching her walk up the stairs to the main door of the old stone manor, his gaze drawn to the curve of her thighs clad in brown leather pants. Her purple tail coat swept down in the back, swaying as she climbed. It cinched tight in at her waist again, highlighting the arc of her hips. From the moment she’d come down the stairs wearing the outfit, Phil had been mesmerized, and Claire was enjoying her newly discovered power over him. “Let’s find Henry and ask our questions. I’d prefer to be back in the city by nightfall.”

 

Phil had thought he was going to set the rules for this little expedition, but it hadn’t taken long to set him to rights. When Claire, Antonia Stark, Natasha, Lady Clinton, and Lady Coulson all agreed, Phil could only nod and change his plans. Toni had immediately dragged out all the details about the night before and the suspicious Jack Rollins although she remained in the dark about Claire’s condition and Pierce’s role. Upon hearing they were planning to take the coach to Waverly, Toni wouldn’t rest until they agreed to let her drive them instead to save time. And it had; what normally would have taken a couple hours lasted only thirty minutes. A very rough and windy half an hour, but much faster. Then Barney had decided he had to come as well; after promising to follow Phil’s lead, Phil had relented since Barney had a history with Jack and might be able to get him to talk. That’s how Claire had found herself tucked in the back seat of Toni’s magnificent car next to Phil with Natasha in the front and Fury and Barney holding on for dear life in the opened rumble seat.  

 

The door of the manor opened and Claire smiled at their butler, Jenkins, as he looked over the group with his usual cool aplomb. The man was ruffled by nothing, and Claire and Barney had certainly tried to get a reaction from him over the years.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Barton,” the man said with a bow. He’d barely changed, it seemed; bushy head of hair that only grew whiter and wilder, short stature, piercing blue eyes. “Shall I take your coat?”

 

“No thank you, Jenkins, we’ll be going back out shortly. You know Lord Coulson, of course, and this is Lady Antonia Stark,” Claire said.

 

The very corners of Jenkins’ eyes narrow the tiniest bit; that was the most excited Claire had seen him in quite a while. “Of course. Your grace.” He bowed towards Toni. “And may I say, Lord Coulson, how happy we are to hear of your engagement to our Miss Barton. The whole household is pleased.”

 

“Actually, we’re here today to talk about the wedding.” Phil explained the story they’d prepared ahead of time. “Lady Stark has some ideas we’d like to bounce around with Old Hank.”

 

“Ah, yes. Henry is at work down by the pond, clearing the algae bloom from the cattails. Jack is trimming around the gazebo in case you wish to use it. I’m sure they will be most helpful.” Jenkins motioned down the hallway. “The terrace is open for the season if you wish to go that way. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

 

“Not today,” Claire assured him. “We will be back to make plans for the dinner and the guests and … there’s so much to do. One thing at a time, and we’ll get it done.”

 

“Indeed, miss. We stand ready to help.”

 

Their route through the house passed by the ballroom and the main lounge then turned by Claire’s grandfather’s study. Toni jumped back, startled by the carved face on the wooden statue by the doorway.

 

“That’s Perun, Slavic god of thunder and lightning,” Barney explained.

 

Toni ducked her head into the room then slowly back out. “Wow, and I thought my father had a strange collection. You grew up with all that? How did you not have nightmares all the time?”

 

“You get used to it,” Claire told her.

 

“Well, Perun doesn’t look like a guy to mess with,” Toni said as they walked on.

 

“He’s a bit of a hothead,” Natasha agreed.

 

The terrace doors opened easily, the windows cleaned until they sparkled. The stone patio was recently washed down, wrought iron chairs and tables still stacked on one side. The gardens spread beyond the edge, path running from the bottom stair and winding through what looked like random plantings. Ash and birch trees grouped with hawthorn shrubs and honeysuckle. Roses mixed with knotgrass. No neat lines or tidy beds, the flowers meandered among the trees and shrubs down to the edge of the pond, branches drooping down into the water. Even the gazebo wasn’t a traditional structure; it looked like it grew out of the earth, the columns trunks with white bark, the roof crisscrossed limbs with tiles of budding leaves. Traditional gardeners would be mortified by the chaos and yet, it was a beautiful celebration of life.

 

“That is the most unusual garden I’ve ever seen,“ Toni stopped to survey the sight. “I need one just like it.”

 

Natasha slammed into Toni seconds before Claire heard the crack of the shot; the two women rolled behind a railing. It was Barney who grabbed Claire’s arm and they darted behind a stack of chairs as a second bullet flew into the stone, sending chips scattering into the air.

 

“It’s coming from the roof,” Fury shouted to Phil. He drew out an oddly shaped pistol, a large metal circular chamber near the handle and crouched down, looking for a target.

 

“There’s more than one,” Phil said. He peered around the edge of the post he was using for cover. “Get inside,” he ordered the rest of us. “We’ll draw their fire.”

 

Four men came around the north side of the terrace, dressed in rough clothes and carrying guns of their own, cutting off any escape into the garden.

 

“We need to get to the car; I’ve got something there that can help.” Toni shot a glance at the main doors we just exited. To get there they’d have to cross an open space.

 

“The music room door,” Barney said. “Directly behind us.”  

 

The men ran up the steps; their weapons popped and let off puffs of steam as they fired. Fury’s gun went rat-a-tat-tat, the cylinder turning as it spat out bullets.

 

“Table,” Natasha shouted at Barney. Being the closest, he darted out from their cover and  put his shoulder under the edge of one of the iron tables. Straining, he lifted it off the heavy legs, growling deep in his throat as it toppled over onto the curved lip.

 

Claire took one last glance at Phil; he had his hand extended, a blue glow extending in an arc. Magic. With vampires and werewolves, why wouldn’t magic be real? And if anyone could learn it, Phil, with his years of experiences and travels, would be the one. She was marrying a man with many facets and wasn’t that an exciting thought?

 

“Go,” he said. “Get everyone to safety.”

 

The table didn’t roll smoothly, despite being round; the central column sprouted four legs  which caught and dragged on the rock. It was slow going; Barney kept having to pick it up, dodging the ends that smacked into his arms. Halfway to their goal, more men emerged from the house itself, these armed with swords  and short pistols. Rushing towards Claire’s group, one of them went down with a hole in his chest.

 

“I’ve got this,” Natasha told them. She didn’t wait for them to follow her instructions; she turned and met the first one head on with a kick to his gut.  He folded with a gasp of pain.

 

“Holy hell,” Barney breathed. “Remind me to stop stealing her chocolates.”

 

“Door,” Claire reminded him.

 

Her brother picked up the table and they made it to the wall of the south wing with only a few shots pinging off the metal. Once inside, they ran out into the hallway towards the front of the house and out into the foyer. The front door slammed open and two more men  came in. Claire and Toni slid to a halt, Barney behind them.

 

“Crane?” Barney asked. “You’re part of this?”

 

“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” Crane answered. “If Claire comes with us, we can keep her safe.”

 

“That’s my job.” Barney was getting angry; his voice was vibrating, growing deeper. “I may not be the best brother, but I can damn well take care of my sister.”

 

“There’s lots of protection in this house. Best not to disturb the household gods.” She felt Barney stiffen behind her, her message clear. “And I’m betting you have orders not to hurt me. So, you can have me if you catch me.”

 

She dodged around their grasping hands and headed for the main staircase, hoping that Barney would understand. Her feet hit the first treads and she was grateful she’d donned pants this morning rather than a skirt as she practically flew up to the first landing. From that vantage point, she could see Toni leaving through the front door and Barney disappearing down the hallway. Then she focused on her own goal; the sporting room where her grandfather’s guns and collection were stored. Crane and the other man almost caught her, but she slammed the door to the room in their faces, turning the key in the lock to buy more time.

 

The walls were lined with display cases, glass doors revealing weapons from a myriad of cultures. Boomerangs hung next to maces, a whole shelf of darts and another of daggers.  In the back was kept the hunting rifles and firearms, and next to that Claire’s bows hung, arrows ready in her quiver. Stringing it took no time; she’d practiced it until she didn’t need to think about slipping the hook into its notch.

 

By the time they battered hard enough for the door to give way, Claire was ready. The first arrow sank into the flesh of the Crane’s arm; the second went into the meat of the other man’s thigh.

 

“Claire. Miss Barton. This can’t end well if you continue to fight. Lord Laufeyson can offer a safe haven for you and the child.” Crane stood, arm cradled to his side. “Pierce has lost control of his people; you are a liability now.”

 

“And I’m just supposed to walk into a vampire’s lair?” Claire held another arrow at ready, string taut in her fingers. “I’ll take my chances with my friends, thank you.”

 

“And put them all at risk? If the wolves don’t get them, the Germans will.” He made no threatening moves, voice calm and even. “And not all of our people have learned control. Once you are off the playing board, your friends and family will no longer be targets.”

 

“Germans?” Claire asked. That was a new element.

 

“Pierce’s son died years ago; his heir is a distant cousin in Germany. He has a vested monetary interest in assuring he inherits so he’s been trying to have you killed.” Crane smiled at her, and she saw the pointed canine teeth.

 

The beveled glass in a window pane shattered as the bullet came through; Claire instinctively ducked her head to avoid the shards. When she looked back up, Crane was on the floor, a gaping wound in his neck pouring dark black blood onto the Persian carpet. The other man changed, his face distorting into a nightmare visage: Claire’s arrow pierced his heart before he could take a step and he fell, skin turning ashen and sinking into his bones.

 

The shooter needed time to reload; most rifles needed priming, even the newest models. Claire could do it in less than a minute; she hoped he was slower. Taking stance, she swung the window open and saw a man in the trees near the gazebo. She drew back on the string, sighted and let the arrow fly, not waiting to see if she hit him. Instead she took the side door out into the servants’ hallway and ran down the back stairs, quiver on her back and boots clattering on the parquet floor. She skidded to a halt when Jenkins appeared, an old fashioned cudgel in his hands.

 

“All those in the house has been neutralized,” he calmly informed her. “Master Barney has the cutlass and Lady Stark is armed as well.”

 

“The one on the roof?” Claire asked.

 

A blast rang outside, followed by a scream and a thud. Running to the doors, she saw a body sprawled on the stone; Toni stood on the stairs, a mechanical gauntlet on one hand glowed bright white in the palm. Other bodies were scattered about, Phil and Fury standing between them. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw movement in the bramble hedge; she was outside in a blink, arrowing flying close enough to ruffle Fury’s coat before it sank into the chest of the man, gun at the ready.

 

“Okay,” Fury said after he adjusted his eyepiece. “Guess Phil wasn’t exaggerating about your skills. Any chance you’re interested in a job?”

 

She smiled and shook her head. “I’ve already got one lined up. From what I’ve seen Phil’s going to need my help.”

 

“Oh, yes, I like her a lot,” Fury said to Phil, punching him lightly on the arm. “And Lady Stark. Quite the accessory you have there.”

 

“It’s part of the suit I’m working on. A modern type of armor to protect the wearer,” she said. The chrome accents on her fingers flashed as she extended the fingers. “Articulated at each joint for full flexibility. Plus, it packs quite a punch.”

 

The echo of a shot sounded from somewhere in the gardens followed by shouts and the sound of metal against metal. All the heads turned; a quick count and Claire realized that neither Barney nor Natasha were accounted for.  

 

“Nick, go left, I’ll take the right flank.” Phil fell easily into the role of leader. “Claire, can you get eyes up high and take any shot you see. Lady Stark …”

 

“Toni,” she corrected.

 

“...Toni, head towards the fight but keep out of sight. You’re our ace in the hole,” he finished.

 

“I should have worn pants,” Toni groused as she crouched down and began making her way through the garden.

 

Claire went for the same tree she’d shot a sniper out of earlier; from the direction of the sounds, she expected the roof of the house wouldn’t be the best vantage point. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she nimbly climbed up until she was on a branch that curved down over the roof of the gazebo, a spot she’d used many times on long lazy afternoons to sneak away from responsibilities. She knew visibility from the ground would be limited, but she could see past the pond. From  here, she drew a bead on the fight going on near the small pier where the row boat was kept. On his knees, cutlass at his feet, Barney was being held by two men. Facing him, red faced and shouting, was Jack Rollins. Three more men stood behind him, swords in their hands.

 

“Damn it, Barney, you picked a bad time to develop a conscience!” Jack was bleeding from a long gash on his arm and a cut near his temple. A red area on Barney’s face was already turning into a bruise. “You know I’ll do anything to get the hell out of here. I’m not going to be like my father, stuck to the same land serving people who are no better than me my whole life.”

 

“So you’re going to help kill Claire?” Barney’s eyes gleamed with righteous fire. “Do you even know who you’ve gotten into bed with, Jack? They’re murderers.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea. Always have been slow on the uptake, that’s Barney Barton.   
You’re surrounded by monsters and you can’t even see it.” Jack shook his head in disgust. “And Claire? Went and got herself kidnapped? What do I care about the kid?”

 

A cold shiver ran down Claire’s arms at the wild look on Barney’s face. “If I wasn’t already planning on killing you, I’d do it just for that lie alone.”

 

“Should ask the little sister herself, old man,” Jack said, a sneer on his face. “All high and mighty nobility and Alexander Pierce has had her bread and butter just like a common …”

 

It was Phil whose fist slammed into Jack’s jaw, knocking him backwards. His appearance sent the men into a mad scramble, rushing towards him. Fury came from the other direction, catching them with their backs turned. Throwing off the hands holding him, Barney charged forward, catching Jack with a mean uppercut and riding him down to the ground where Barney kept pummeling with his fists. Claire fired three arrows in succession,  taking out two and wounding a third. Between them and Toni’s blasts from her gauntlet, the fight was over quickly. Phil pulled Barney off of Jack; Barney struggled, far gone in his anger, but he managed to take a few breaths and calm himself down by the time Claire climbed down to join them.

 

“Is it true?” Barney asked, eyes filled with hurt. “Are you?”

 

She bit her bottom lip, but Phil’s hand was warm under her elbow, his strength just behind her. “Yes. Pierce forced himself on me and I’m carrying his child.”

 

Barney’s mouth opened then shut then opened again. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut as red flushed his cheeks. “And you went to Phil for help. Not me.”

“Barney, I …” she couldn’t get the right words out. “I thought I was protecting you. Pierce isn’t just a powerful man, he’s involved in some very dangerous endeavors. I know you’d want to defend my honor and I was afraid he’d kill you.”

 

“You thought I’d blow my top and go off half-cocked.” Barney glared at her. “You don’t trust me.”

 

“I didn’t … I didn’t want you to look at me like that. Like I was soiled.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry”

 

“I know I haven’t been the best brother,” Barney said. “And I probably would have run off to confront him. But I’d never think of you that way, Claire. You’re my sister; we’re family.”

 

Jack Rollins’ groans interrupted them; Fury stood over the man, gun aimed squarely at Jack’s forehead. “Much as I hate to waylay the drama, maybe we should get some answers while we can?”

 

“Let me,” Phil said, crouching beside the man who was bleeding from numerous cuts on his face and holding his arm at an odd angle. “Where did you get the money to hire the men to hurt Claire?”

 

“Go to hell, you bloody bastard,” Jack growled. “I know all about your whore of a mother and …”

 

Phil spread his hand out in front of Jack’s face, and Jack began to gasp, clutching at his throat, his eyes bulging. “I asked a question. I want an answer,” Phil ordered in a deadly calm voice.

 

Dragging in a breath as soon as Phil dropped his hand, Jack coughed before he answered. “I’m not scared of you and I’m not telling you nothing.”

 

“Are you working for the German?” Claire asked, ignoring the startled looks from those around her. “How much is he paying you?”

 

A gravely laugh fell from Jack’s mouth. “Paying me? Hell, I’m doing this for free. German or English, doesn’t matter. Royalty are all self-inflated idiots. I’d already sold them out for a ticket out of this place.”

 

Natasha appeared as quietly as always; Jack’s eyes widened and he swallowed noisily when he saw her over Claire’s shoulder. “I think you should tell us everything,” Natasha said. “Clear your conscious, Rollins. Before you meet your maker.”

 

“Um, we’re not going to …” Toni began, but Jack’s voice ran over hers.

“Baron Strucker. He’s at the Savoy in London. The baby will take his place as Pierce’s heir, so he wants it to go away,” Jack practically babbled, trying to get the words out so fast. “It’s a power play, the whole thing. The other families smell blood in the water and they’re …”

 

The knife made a sickening thunk as it sunk into Jack’s chest, all the way up to the hilt. Everyone started, jumping back from the body caught in death tremors. Natasha drew a silvery black dagger and scanned the tree line; she and Fury herded Barney and Toni between them. Phil took the couple steps towards Claire and then the brush erupted with growls and slashing claws as half-man, half-wolf creatures swarmed them. Claire ducked and ran for a low hanging branch, catching it and swinging up just as claws raked the leather of her boots. Balancing herself in a cleft, she drew her bow and lined up one shot and then another, trying to pick out friend from foe in the battle below. As she drew the third arrow, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end; an arm curled around her waist, a hand pressed a cloth over her mouth, and she breathed in slightly sweet mineral smell … then she dropped into the blackness of unconsciousness.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets the Baron and much is revealed. And there's a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains a discussion of the option of abortion. 
> 
> Only the epilogue is left and it's finished so it will be up soon.

First thing Claire saw when she came to was a tea tray filled with fine china and a steaming pot. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up from where she was lying on a divan and surveyed the room. A salon with chairs and settees held a long row of windows that were darkening in the coming twilight. A fire crackled on the hearth and Brock Rumlow stood talking to a man she didn’t recognize.

 

“Ah, there you are.” The man towered over her, silver stripes at his temples, chrome spectacles perched on his nose. Thick accent draped over his precise words, his blue eyes piercing across the room. “Miss Barton. A pleasure to finally meet you. Baron Von Strucker.”

 

He held out his hand; Claire glared up, refusing to even touch him. “I certainly can’t say the same,” she replied, ice coating her voice.

 

“Ah, yes, I owe you an apology. The agents I chose were overzealous; Mr. Rumlow here assures me that you are a reasonable young woman. I believe we can come to an agreement without further nastiness.” Strucker sat down in a wing chair, brushing flecks from his perfectly tailored pants. “As you may realize, we share a common distaste for Alexander Pierce. I have a proposal that will solve both of our problems.”

 

“One that doesn’t involve pushing me into traffic?” Claire couldn’t help but ask. “Or attacking my home and friends?”

 

“My men were the ones helping you today, my dear.” Strucker poured two cups of tea and slid one over towards her. “Pierce sent his wolves to intimidate your gardener’s son -- he gave up your secrets so easily, I’m afraid -- and the others were Laufeyson’s. The vampire sees the implications of this change in the balance; Pierce is too drunk on his own illusions of grandeur.”

 

“The balance?” Claire didn’t touch the tea; it could too easily be poisoned. “You mean you’d no longer get your hands on Pierce’s money and land.”

 

“I would think one such as you would know more.” He shook his head ruefully then blew on the brown liquid to cool it. “You have the sight, after all. Can’t you see the truth?”

 

He stared directly into her eyes; Claire blinked and Strucker’s face melted, scales spreading across his cheeks, long red tongue flicking out. Then all was as it had been and Strucker smiled, oily and slick.

 

“Why does one child change so much?” Claire demanded. “If you want to treat with me, I need information.”

 

“As it is with the normals, there is a hierarchy among the Clans. Nobility and royal families.” Strucker added a cube of sugar to his cup. “Laufeyson, for example, has two claims to seats on the council; Pierce’s lineage is top tier. HIs daughter would have automatically succeeded him had she not died young.”

 

“So this child will do the same?” She knew about Elizabeth Pierce’s sad demise during the last influenza epidemic.

 

“Pierce has been consolidating some of the lower castes; his heir will inherit much more than just his lands and wealth,” Strucker explained.

 

Claire didn’t miss the aborted eye roll Brock gave her behind Strucker’s back. He actually winked at Claire and glanced at the window. “More reason for you to get rid of me and the child.”

 

“Just the child, Miss Barton. There is a simple solution; my colleague, Madame Drew, is well versed in the herbal arts. She can make you a cup of tea; drink it before bedtime and by the morning you are free to go back to your life.”

 

She drew in a breath and held it, her hand sliding across her abdomen and resting on the natural curve that would only grow larger in the months to come. To end the pregnancy, that was what Strucker was suggesting. Claire had certainly thought about the possibility; she had talked it over with Natasha who assured her there were safe ways to handle it. It would be easier; she could pretend the whole terrible night hadn’t happened at all.

 

But she’d decided against it not because of any religious obligation or ethical quandary, but because she couldn’t imagine how any of this was an innocent child’s fault. Her mother had gotten pregnant a second time, thinking it would make Harold Barton happy; the opposite was quite true. Claire might not have chosen to be a mother so soon, but she could give this child the best life possible.   

 

“I’ll need time to think about it,” she said. What she needed was time to find an escape strategy.

 

“Of course,” Strucker agreed with a smug smile at what he thought was her easy acquiescence. “We’ll arrange a room for you to rest from your ordeal.”

 

“And I’ll have to discuss it with my fiance,” she added.

 

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” Strucker frowned, his brow furrowing. “The Duke is not part of the deal.”

 

“Are you married, Baron? Would you want your wife to keep things from you?” Claire shook her head. “Not to mention the fall out of the decision. Pierce will not be happy with me and there’s Laufeyson still sniffing around my skirts. My family and friends will be at risk whichever path I choose.”

 

“Told you she was smart,” Brock interjected with a smile.

 

“Indeed.” Strucker pursed his lips, his stare turning thoughtful. “You have surprised me more than once, Miss Barton. You are right about Pierce’s reaction, but you have no need to worry. He won’t be around to enact any more machinations.”

 

A cold fear clutched at Claire’s heart; Strucker spoke so easily of killing Pierce. How could she believe he intended to let her go or trust any drink he gave her? “And the vampires?”

 

“Mr. Rumlow will remain here in London; he has agreed to protect you and your brother.” Strucker seemed singularly uninterested in Laufeyson and the bloodsuckers. “Now, let’s get you some rest and we’ll see how you feel after.”

 

He stood and offered his hand; Claire rose without taking his help. “I’m sure Lord Coulson will come quickly,” she said coolly. “He’s looking for me now. Simply send a runner to his home and we can hurry this along.”

 

The pinched look returned to Strucker’s face; he gave Claire a perfunctory nod and extended his arm, motioning her to proceed to the door. Over his shoulder, Rumlow gave Claire a tiny nod; she didn’t know what to make of that or which side Brock was working for. Without another option, she proceeded Strucker towards the hallway, noticing her bow tucked into the corner behind the heavy oaken door.

 

The shattering tingle of glass rang from behind her; Claire ducked and took the chance to dart around, grab the smooth lacquered curve and snag the leather strap of her quiver. She didn’t risk a glance until she crouched behind the settee and had an arrow strung. Then she peeked above the carved wooden edge and saw Natasha, her coat whirling out behind her as she spun, small curved swords flashing. A gust of cold air swirled through the room, the curtains flapping as guards rushed in the open door. Like an avenging spirit, Natasha fairly glowed as she struck blow after blow, blocking and parrying each attack. More men came in; Claire stood and shot two arrows in a row, taking the lead two down to the floor before she hid again, looking around for Strucker and Rumlow. The Baron was nowhere to be seen; he must have exited when the window broke. Brock, on the other hand, was wrestling hand-to-hand with one of Strucker’s men, his teeth bared and long sharp talons catching the light.

 

“We need fire,” Brock shouted. “Cauterize their wounds or they’ll …”

 

One of the men Claire had taken down slowly sat up, yanked the arrow out of his chest, and began to split into two, skin sloughing off and filling out into an exact copy of himself. Of everything Claire had seen, the way he peeled off one layer to create a new one was the most disturbing. She shook herself out of her daze; her eye fell on the oil lamp on the table. Removing the glass chimney, she stuck an arrow head into the flame and let it heat up until it glowed. Then she shot again at the doubled man; this time the arrow sizzled as it went in, blackening an area around the wound.

 

Rumlow grabbed another lamp and dribbled hot oil on the man he’d just downed; Claire heated two arrows at once and aimed carefully, avoiding Natasha and Brock as the fight flowed around the room. When all the men were accounted for, Claire looked at her friend and almost gasped aloud. Natasha’s face was shining, porcelain skin with rosy cheeks, red hair aflame in the lights, a fierceness burning in her eyes. Around her the cold gathered, fractals of lace like ice melting off her skin.

 

“We need to go,” Natasha said, voice as barren of emotion as Claire had ever heard. “Strucker got away; there will be more.”

 

With a nod of agreement, Rumlow stepped out into the hall, checking to see if it was clear. Natasha turned to Claire; their eyes met and in those familiar green depths, Claire could see no mercy for the dead.

 

“The others. They won’t get up? Split?” Claire cleared her throat and managed to sound almost calm and collected as she asked the question. Standing up, she clutched her bow as a lifeline.

 

“What I kill stays dead,” Natasha said with a feral smile. “You are well? He didn’t hurt you?”

 

“No. Just talked. He wanted me to end the pregnancy, but I think he planned to kill me anyway.” Claire stepped around the bodies, toes of her boots turning dark with blood. “Rumlow’s on our side?”

 

The use of the plural pronoun earned Claire a real smile from Natasha; the red head seemed to dim and come back to herself. “He’s on the side that can protect his pack. Pierce’s days are numbered and Strucker is unhinged.”

 

The hotel suite was large with many rooms; they walked out of the double doors and made their way to the lobby, taking a turn through the bar so it appeared they’d come for a drink or tea. Natasha’s swords went inside the folds of her jacket. Claire couldn’t hide her bow; Rumlow stopped to don a long leather duster and both quiver and curved wood disappeared underneath. Outside the front door, Jasper waited in a coach; he pulled away at a sedate trot as soon as they were all seated. Only then did Claire breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“Where is Phil?” she asked. “Not that I’m not grateful, but I half-expected him to find me. Or Barney to storm the building.”

 

“I sent your brother off on a wild goose chase with Toni Stark,” Natasha explained. “We weren’t sure which hotel; Coulson and Fury took the other main option.”

 

So many questions, but Claire didn’t want to get into them here with Rumlow seated across from them. She stayed on safer topics. “This is all about political power then,” she said.

 

“Pierce has become a loose canon,” Rumlow supplied. “He’ll have to be dealt with. Most of the Hydra faction is split between Pierce and Strucker; strike one of them down, the other will take their place.”

 

“Strucker will have to go with the alternative plan now,” Natasha said. “He’ll try to convince the council Pierce is mad and needs to be replaced. That way, when the child is known, Strucker will already be the Lameaen.”

 

“So I’m just one in a line of girls Pierce used to try and beget an heir? All that talk of him and Laufeyson singling Barney and me out was pure luck?” Claire felt a knot of hysteria rising in her throat. All this because she’d been in the right place at the right time at that party?

 

“No, dear.” Natasha laid a hand on Claire’s knee. “Strucker didn’t know everything. Pierce and Loki picked you for a reason. There’s no easy way to say this …”

 

“I just saw a man die, split in half and come back to life. I think I can handle it,” Claire blurted out. Rumlow chuckled. “You’re about to tell me something about my family, aren’t you?”

 

“Pierce picked women who had familial ties to one of the clans with seats on the Council. Sometimes very tenuous, but claims nonetheless,” Natasha explained. “Your father wasn’t human, Claire, and he was one of the last of an old royal line.”

 

“What was he? A boggart? A troll?” She couldn’t say it didn’t make some sort of sense with her father’s temper and towering fits of rage.

 

“An ogre,” Natasha said.

 

“Big, green, tusked, nasty creature?” Claire’s mouth ran away from her. “Nasty and big, I’ll give you, but he certainly wasn’t green.”

 

“Don’t believe everything you hear in fairytales,” Rumlow said. “The clans are more about abilities and gifts; almost all have human features. You know an ogre by its behavior.”

 

“So I’m half-ogre? Am I going to start smashing things and going crazy?” She asked.

 

“It doesn’t work that way. When one of the clans marries a human or someone of another clan, the attributes are not always passed on to all children. Barney, clearly, has some of the traits,” Natasha said as the carriage began to slow. “You have more of your mother in you.”

 

They’d barely stopped before the door opened and Phil’s face appeared, concern etched in every line. As soon as his eyes fell on Claire, his brow smoothed and he reached out for her. She went into his arms willingly, only half-aware of him carrying her in the house, her feet never touching the ground.

* * *

 

Phil reined his temper in and boxed up the impulse to storm Lord Alexander Pierce’s home. All the information revealed today tempted his hard won control; he kept his hand covering Claire’s, and the tactile sense of her, alive and well, was a safety line. He needed an even keel to keep her protected.

 

“An attack on Pierce needs time and planning,” Fury was arguing. “Even with Rumlow’s inside knowledge, we need more support and men to make any sort of successful attempt to take Pierce on. Not to mention that this is London, not the American West. People are going to notice a full on battle in the streets.”

 

“Bastard deserves to die,” Barney shouted back. No one had broken the news to the eldest Barton about their father’s heritage, but now that Phil knew, it was obvious. Barney’s face was flushed with anger, his hands clenched, a flash of yellow in his eyes. “For what he did to Claire. Nobody hurts my sister and gets away with it.”

 

“Agreed,” Phil said, his voice sounding calm. “Claire will have her justice. But we do this smart and we do it right.”

 

“You have a visitor,” Jasper said from the doorway. His metal fingers clacked a seemingly random rhythm, and Phil shifted closer to Claire on the settee.  Everyone fell quiet as Jasper continued to speak. “Lord Pierce is here.”

 

Rumlow immediately left through the side door into the office; Barney surged forward from his spot next to the fireplace, Toni Stark laying a hand on his arm to forestall his outburst. Natasha rose from where she was curled into a chair and Phil could sense the waves of power rolling off her. Later, they were going to have a conversation, but for now, whatever Natasha was, she was firmly on Claire’s side.

 

“Show him in, Jasper. And ask Maria to bring in some ice for the whiskey.” Phil remained seated and squeezed Claire’s hand. This turn of events was unexpected, but he could see their futures in the corners of his eyes, paths circling back around on each other, like vines twining together.

 

“Lord Coulson.” Pierce paused in the doorway to the salon, his gaze taking in everyone present. “Ah, good, this will be expedient. I have little time to waste as it is.”

 

It didn’t go unnoticed that no one gave Pierce the courtesies of his title, nor did they greet him in return. “The Baron on your trail?” Phil asked. “I hear your allies are deserting you and Laufeyson is poised to press the advantage.”

 

“Thanks to you,” Pierce ground out between clenched teeth, “I have had to move forward my travel plans. To that end, I shall have to leave the legal details of my heir to my solicitor …”

 

“Son of a bitch.” Barney’s fist plowed into the side of Pierce’s handsome face and he reeled back a step. Muscles trembling, Barney held himself from a second blow. “Get it right. Claire’s the one who’s foiled your dastardly plans. The woman you thought you could make cower at the sound of your name kicked your ass.”

 

“Barney.” Claire looked up at her brother, pleasure evident in her eyes. “Much as I appreciate the credit, we all helped. And as to your legal details, Alexander, there will be no need for your man to bother himself.”

 

“I beg to differ. You will need my protection from the other Clans and factions if that child is to survive,” Pierce said coolly.

 

“Pedal your blather somewhere else, you snake,” Lady Clinton said from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s so like you Hydra to worm your way into places you’re not wanted.”

 

“Grandmother!” Claire exclaimed. “How … you know?”

 

“Of course, my dear. I didn’t think you did, but obviously I was wrong. Now, what’s this about a child? Have you and Phil been tripping the sheets? Is that the reason for such haste?” She crossed into the room, everyone parting before her progress. “Not that I can judge, mind you. Your mother was an eight month baby.”

 

“The child is mine,” Pierce declared.

 

Lady Clinton froze, a myriad of emotions flitting across her face. Beside Phil, Claire gasped quietly, her eyes trained on her grandmother. Even Phil saw the ripple that ran from the crown of Lady Clinton’s head and down her body, like a glimpse back in time to a younger woman.

 

“Claire, darling. Did this reptile force himself upon you?” Lady Clinton’s voice held an echo that doubled and tripled the longer she spoke.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Claire answered in a soft tone.

 

“You can beat him to death, Barney,” Toni Stark said. “I’ve created a cleanser that gets anything from oil to blood out of carpets. We can dump his body in the Thames; there’s a good spot down near the Watling docks.”

 

“How do you know that?” Fury’s eyepiece spun and tightened in Toni. “Personal experience?”

 

“Down from St. Paul’s is better; the current is stronger there,” Natasha added.

 

“There will be no body.” Lady Clinton’s words brought the conversation to a halt. “One question, Alexander. Was this about gaining Harold Barton’s proxy vote?”

 

“I already have the pixies and the lamias. The ogre faction will tip the balance of the council in my favor.” Pierce seemed proud of his accomplishment. “There’s nothing anyone can do …”

 

“Oh, just stop.” Lady Clinton waved her hand and Pierce, mouth open in mid-diatribe, became statue still, only the widening of his eyes giving away the moment he realized he’d made a serious tactical error. “Too much hissing from a forked tongue gives me a headache. That’s much better.” She sighed, meeting Barney then Claire’s eyes. “I’m sorry, dears. I meant to stay long enough to see you settled with families of your own. Damn clan politics; always fighting and maneuvering for better advantage. The curse of youth.”

 

“Grand, what are you saying? I don’t understand any of this,” Barney said. Lost in the conversation, Barney wrinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes. “Vampires and snakes and werewolves? Jack part of it? And you too?”

 

“It’s a lot to take in isn’t it?” Lady Clinton crossed to her grandson and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re strong, both of you. I made sure of it in case this day ever came.”

 

Phil heard a distant sound of pattering rain and smelled the crisp scent of newly fallen snow. A ripple began again around Lady Clinton’s head and spread downward in short waves. Grey hair turned silver and lengthened. Wrinkles smoothed and blue eyes sharpened. Hunched shoulders stood tall and gnarled hands became long and slender. He didn’t need his sight to feel the power that poured off her, aura so bright that even Toni Stark gasped.

 

“My Lady,” Natasha spoke first. She inclined her head and offered her hand. “It is good to see you; we feared you lost.”

 

“Aye, lost to love.” Lady Clinton’s laugh was like ice clinking in a glass. “Falling for a human is so out of style that my parents put about the story I’d gone into shadow. It was worth it, though. I lived a good life and have wonderful grandchildren to show for it.”

 

She still had Claire’s eyes, only more blue, and Barney’s nose, only minus his bump. But now the ethereal clung to her form, almost too much to look at directly.

 

“You’re fae,” Nick said. “I thought those were only legends.”

 

“We like it that way, Mr. Fury,” she answered. “Most of my kind find the mortal world annoying. I’m the progressive one in the family.”

 

“Fairy? You’re a fairy?” Claire blinked. “But what does that mean?”

 

“It means, dear heart, that you have fae blood in your veins. Both of you do. In Barney, it balances out your father’s genetics, and it gave you the sight. The downside is that supernatural creatures are drawn to us.”

 

“That explains Laufeyson’s interest,” Phil said. “So Claire’s child is not only heir to the ogre and the hydra clans, but a fae as well?”

 

“Of the royal line of the Winter Court,” replied the woman standing in the doorway. Phil started; he’d not heard her enter nor had Jasper moved from his place behind the couch. In a perfect white riding habit with a slim skirt and a fur muff, the woman had raven dark hair with silver streaks, curled at the nape of her neck, ruby red lips and blue-grey eyes. “Which means that this puffed up little snake has violated the Tanzanica Accords; as a primary signator, I can determine punishment of the offending party. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

 

Pierce’s face turned red as he tried to talk; with a snap of her fingers, the newcomer released him from the spell. “I didn’t know,” he sputtered. “I cannot be held accountable; she used her fairy wiles upon me.”

 

“Are you suggesting my granddaughter wanted you to rape her?” Lady Clinton tilted her head and ice formed on her fingers. “Because that is the incorrect answer.”

 

“Mauve.” The other fae spoke sharply. “His case is mine to hear. You and I will speak shortly.”

 

“It doesn’t matter; a child’s lineage flows from the father in the council’s law,” Pierce argued. “I will have my heir whatever happens to me. Do what you will.”

 

Phil’s third eye was practically blinded by the power that flared in the woman’s eyes at Pierce’s declaration. A cold shiver of fear made him sure that Pierce’s punishment would be a living hell.

 

“A tiny detail that can be easily remedied,” the woman said. In two steps, she was in front of Claire and Phil was struck by the two of them; it was like looking a reflection in a frozen lake, same eyes, same turn of the cheek. “Claire Barton. Do you wish to keep this child?”

 

Claire swallowed, took the pale hand that was offered and stood. “Yes, I do.”

 

“And do you wish to join yourself to this man?” she asked.

 

Standing beside her, Phil wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed.

 

“I do,” she replied.

 

“Then I offer you a bride gift,” the woman said.

 

“And what is the payment for such a gift?” Phil asked. Risky, as he had not been directly addressed, but he knew better than to take a gift without knowing the ramifications.

 

For the first time those crystalline blue-green eyes fell on him full force and he was thrown out into the cosmos, spinning through the possibilities. Paths curved and split, joined and spiraled, infinite choices to be made.

 

“You will do as a protector, Philip Coulson. You’re magic will be needed in the days ahead.”

 

“Claire is perfectly capable of taking care of herself,” Phil replied. “But I will do what I can to keep her and all of our children safe.”

 

The smallest curl of a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “That is a good answer, Duke of Argyll. You need only do that and the price will be paid.”

 

With that, she placed a hand on Claire’s stomach and Phil saw her draw an spindly line of energy, roll it between her fingers, and ball up a part of it, a pulsing black, in the palm of her other hand. Flicking the ball behind her where it dispersed harmlessly on the floor, she plucked a strand from Phil’s chest and wound it up with Claire’s. Phil felt a tug and then the faintest thrum of … breath? A heartbeat? ... that settled in his mind. It sped up or doubled or grew stronger and he saw his future, a strong blue joined with Claire’s purple then more smaller lines that strengthened and became a taut rope that wove in and out of coming shadows.

 

“No!” Pierce’s voice broke the spell. “You can’t do that! The Accords do not allow you to …”

 

With a snap of her fingers, Pierce was gone and an awkward silence reigned.

 

“As dramatic as always, Mother,” Lady Clinton finally said.

 

“So you came by that trait honestly?” Natasha asked. “And I thought you were just a stubborn old woman.”

 

“Ah, Morana, slumming in the human world, are you?” The woman didn’t take her eyes off of Claire. “I would thank you for watching over my daughter and her children, but I know you have your own agenda.”

 

“Would it surprise you to know I am proud to call Claire my friend?” Natasha didn’t seem cowed by the fae before her. “The Barton family has long served us; I could not allow the heirs go unprotected.”

 

“You’re my great grandmother,” Claire declared. “And you’re Fae royalty.”

 

“You may call me Lady Mab,” she replied. Phil felt Claire shiver as Mab looked right inside of her. “Smart, resourceful, perfect aim … Deidre will love that … true sight, and a touch of ogre strength and will. I’m still disappointed, Mauve, that you let your daughter marry an ogre.”

 

“One of the lessons I’ve learned, Mother. You can tell your children what to do but they don’t listen; in the end, it is best they learn from their own mistakes.” Lady Clinton smiled at Claire. “And, yes, she will be one of the greatest of the half bloods, given time.”

 

“And the son, Charles.” Mab turned her attention away and a bit of tension bled away from Phil’s shoulders.

 

“Call me Barney, ma’am.” Uncomfortable, Barney shifted from foot to foot. “Since we’re family and all.”

 

“Strong, rash, easy to anger, but such untapped intelligence. I expect to see you in a few years; my knight is growing older and, with some training, you’d be a perfect replacement.” Mab touched him on the shoulder before she turned back to Lady Clinton. “Well, are you done playing house? Leanan is trying to extend her power again and your father is as useless as ever. The Mother is locked in the seeing house, mumbling about the coming age of man; if it’s not the end of the world, it’s the destruction of our kind.”

 

“So nothing has changed?” Lady Clinton laughed. “Aye, I’ll return as soon as I see this one wed.”

 

“Good. Now I have a snake to filet.” And with that she was gone.

 

“Was that …” Toni couldn’t finish the question, just stood with her mouth ajar.

 

“My mother, the Winter Queen. She’s much worse than she looks,” Lady Clinton supplied.

 

“That was Mab at her most reserved,” Natasha agreed. “She was positively giddy. I think she likes you.”

 

“Does anyone have anything else they’d like to reveal?” Fury asked no one specific. “Because I need a glass of brandy if you do.”

 

“Wait!” Barney said. “So, I’m an ogre and a fairy? Is that what she said?”

 

“Takes him a few minutes,” Claire joked, “but eventually he catches up.”

* * *

“You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day,” Fury said, already on his third glass of excellent champagne. The ballroom of Waverly held tables piled with food as the wedding guests mingled, plates filled with delicacies from around the world and some that were otherworldly. Between Phil and Claire, they had many connections in the immigrant communities so eggrolls nestled beside borscht and pad thai. Jenkins the butler … it turned out the whole household was staffed by elves, fairies, and other spirits … provided delicate white powder cookies and the punch was a crisp concoction that was neither too sweet nor too sour.

 

The clouds of the morning had parted for the ceremony, letting the warmth of the early spring sun shine down on the gardens as they said their vows. None of their human friends seemed to notice the extra three lines required by the council and the accords and, thankfully, for all the excitement of their short engagement, their wedding was simple and came off without a hitch.

 

“Any weather would be fine as long as I take Claire home with me tonight as my wife.”  Phil knew the irony of that statement; he’d long protested the dangers of love and marriage to Fury and now he was a lovesick fool, gazing besottedly at Claire’s profile. Lovely in her white dress and simple flowers in her hair, she was the most beautiful woman in the room.

 

“It’s a good thing you’re leaving for Scotland tomorrow. I don’t think I can take much more,” Fury joked. “I need a few weeks of quiet to make up for all this.”

 

“There’s still Strucker out there and there will be many who will make a play for Pierce’s power.” Phil worried about all of the possibilities. Mab had suggested that darkness was coming. “Laufeyson’s gone to ground and I doubt we’ve heard the last of him. And then there’s Rumlow and his pack. Do we trust them or not?”

 

“That’s for me to deal with. You’re off on a well-earned honeymoon in the highlands. Enjoy it. I’ll keep an eye on things here.” Fury’s eye piece scanned the crowd. “Actually, I’m more concerned about that developing friendship.”

 

Phil saw Barney Barton carrying a plate that Toni Stark was loading up with all sorts of tidbits. Virginia Potts was laughing at something James Rhodes said, but it was the blush on Barney’s face that caught his attention. Since Toni had taken Barney’s coffee machine idea to heart, the two had been spending more time together.

 

“I don’t know, I think they even each other out,” Phil said.

 

“They caused a brawl at the Science Institute, Phil,” Fury sighed. “And Barney’s taken up swordplay; he’s taking the whole knight thing to heart.”

 

“Ummmm,” Phil hummed in agreement, not listening. Claire had tilted her head and their eyes met; her cheeks turned rosey and Phil handed his half-empty flute to Fury. “I think it’s time we were leaving now.”

 

“And to think I encouraged this,” Nick said with a shake of his head.

 

Phil didn’t hear him. He was already halfway across the room on his way to his wife’s side.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed the number of readers who guessed that Harold Barton wasn't entirely human and the savvy few who caught the hints that Lady Clinton knew much more than she let on. No one got Natasha though. For those interested, Natasha is Morana, the slavic/Russian goddess of winter/death/night. Known as being unstoppable, a fierce fighter, and for showing no mercy to her enemies, she is an equivalent to the Greek Hera. My thanks to Uuuhshiny for her help with Russian mythology.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been along with me on this ride. It was really fun! :)))

_**3 months later (5 months pregnant)** _

Claire bent her head back as Phil’s breath tickled her neck. One of his hands cradled the curve of her belly while the other held firm to the curve of her bare hip as he thrust in a steady rhythm. Today, they’d hiked up stream to see if the rumors of a blight were true; a waterfall, a warm pool, and a picnic lunch had led to a naked swim and Claire with her hands against a tree trunk as Phil made love to her in the afternoon sun.

“Beautiful,” Phil murmured, his lips grazing along the exposed line of her neck, her hair pulled back in a simple braid.  

“Getting fat,” Claire returned. No hiding her pregnant state now, the people of Argyll were thrilled not only with their new Duchess, but the fact she would bear the future heir in the castle. A honeymoon baby, it seemed, was a good omen for the future of the land. Unlike the stories Claire had heard about taciturn, gloomy Scots, the people of Argyll were loving and welcoming. Bronwyn, the midwife, had laughed at what the British doctor said, encouraging Claire to get out in the fresh air and be active, a directive Claire was only too glad to follow.

“You are gorgeous,” Phil told her, sliding the hand off of her hip and squeezing her breast. Heat zinged through her body and she clenched her muscles around him, the throbbing pulse in her clitoris rising to a fevered pitch.  Phil had taken his sweet time winding her up as they soaked in the pool; she was more than ready for a second orgasm, holding herself off until Phil could come too.

“Flatterer.” She arched back, pressed her hips down against his and circled as she clenched.  

He groaned in answer and thrust once, then twice more and came; his fingers tweaked her nipple and stroked down into the wiry hair of her pubis. One touch to her clit and she spasmed around him, milking his last drops as she dropped over the edge into pleasure.

“I never should have brought that book with us,” Phil chuckled into her ear. “You’re determined to try all the positions, aren’t you?”

“Some will have to wait until after the babe comes, especially that one where I hang upside down.” She sighed and let him take her weight as he pulled her in tight. Her back twinged, low, near the spine, and she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Phil knew anyway; he had a sixth sense about her various aches.

“Are you alright?” he asked.  He’d learned not to assume the worst but he still had a plan for every contingency.

“I’m carrying extra weight and I just had energetic sex outdoors. Just my back reminding me.” She patted his arm and eased away. “Once we start walking it will work out.”

They cleaned up with warm water and dressed, stopping for stolen kisses against the majestic backdrop of Highland craigs. The wild beauty of the place spoke to Claire; she felt at home among the rugged hills. As Phil gathered up the remains of their lunch, the hairs on the back of Claire’s neck rose. Turning, she saw two women standing just under the eaves of the trees; both bowed when her eyes fell upon them.

“Lord Coulson, we have company,” she said. Phil looked around.

“Forgive the intrusion.” The first one to speak had long mahogany hair, her dress green like the leaves around. “We wished to greet the Lord and Lady.”

“And we are thrilled that you are here, my Lady. To think we are blessed with your patronage!” The second woman’s hair was bright red, her gown dark green teardrops of material, each with a darker point. “The  return of the fae and you choose our small valley.”

“Holly.” The first woman reprimanded the shorter one. “Remember your manners.”

“But Rowan, you know Ashton and Pinela will be jealous. You said so yourself.” Holly pouted.

“Forgive my companion,” Rowan said. “She is overexcited. It has been so long since we’ve had a protector of the land. And now we have a fae Lady and a scholar mage.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Claire said. She felt the heat of her blush as she wondered if these two had seen their tryst. “We’ll do the best we can.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Holly waved her hand. “It’s a great honor to have you consecrate the ground with your bodies. Promotes fertility and will provide protection for this glen.”

“Um, yes, well,” Phil tripped over words at that; Claire fought the urge to giggle. “I want to do what I can to promote … fertility … in the holding.”

“Then you’ll be doing something about those boggarts that are infesting Pigeon Creek? Nasty creatures polluting the water; Neve and Aquila have already had to leave their pools,” Rowan said.

“Boggarts? Near the Dunley farm?” Phil asked. “That would explain the blight. Yes, we’ll take care of that. I know just the thing to drive them off. Best if they decide to move on rather than kill them. Their blood can infect the land.”

“A scholar indeed,” Rowan exclaimed. “We thank you, my Lord. What begins in one place can spread to the other.”

“If you know of anything else, dangers, creatures, let Lady Coulson or myself know,” Phil replied.

“We shall spread the word to others.” Rowan inclined her head in respect.

“And tell them not to bother you if you are otherwise engaged,” Holly added.

“That would be much appreciated,” Claire replied.

“A blessing upon you, my Lord, my Lady,” they said together. “May the wind be always at your back.”

“And may your roots grow strong,” Phil said. The two blushed with pleasure at his words.

“And may your children never fall far from the tree of their family,” Rowan added. With that, they disappeared into the trees, fading quickly into the shadows.

“They were …” Claire began.

“Dryads,” Phil finished.

“My life is very different,” Claire mused. “I think I like it better this way.”

* * *

_**6 months later (8 months pregnant)** _

“That’s it, Claire. Breathe with me. Deep breath in … short ones out.” Phil held his wife’s hand as a rippled rode over the cusp of her swollen belly, another set of painful contractions coming on. “You’re doing so well; we’re almost there.”

In the nine hours since Claire’s water had broken just before sunrise, Phil had been with her every step of the way.  Dr. Williams had objected strenuously to Phil’s presence; Phil had finally kicked him out of the room after he said not to coddle Claire, that childbirth was Eve’s curse on women and they were supposed to suffer so they never forgot it.  Bronwyn and Natasha had applauded and immediately opened the windows to let in the afternoon breeze.

“This is it, lass,” Bronwyn said from her place between Claire’s knees. “I can see a head with brown hair. It’s time to push.”

“Scream if you need to,” Natasha told her, wiping a scented cool cloth over her brow. “There’s no one here who cares. All women are the same in childbed.”

“I don’t … oh God, Phil … I don’t think I can do this.” Claire’s fingers clenched tight, her nails cutting into the back of Phil’s hand. “It hurts, it hurts.”

“Can’t isn’t an option, lass. This babe is coming right now. Bear down and push.”  Bronwyn ran a hand over Claire’s belly. “Feel this, milord. That’s your son fighting his way into the world.”  She’d been insistent the child was a boy since she first announced the Claire was pregnant, and she had a very good track record when it came to her predictions.

Claire’s skin was hot under the palm of his hand; a ripple passed under his fingers and Phil felt a sharp edge of foot or hand or elbow drag beneath him.  The muscles went taunt, a stiff band that swept the baby down.  With a cry, Claire sat partially up and grabbed under her thighs, gritting her teeth and pushing hard. Propping her up with pillows, Natasha held her up with an arm on one side, Phil on the other.

“One more big push,” Bronwyn encouraged.

From Phil’s vantage point he could see the head crowning. Claire folded herself up again, her eyes squeezed shut, and grunted loudly as she bore down. Bronwyn’s fingers slipped inside the dilated circle and grasped the head, easing the widest part out. The rest of the baby slid out quickly; coated in sticky white; a long umbilical cord ran from belly button back inside. With deft strokes, Bronwyn took the warm moist towel in a bowl and cleared out the eyes and wiped down the face. A small suction ball opened up the nostrils and the babe opened its mouth and squalled loud enough that the whole castle could hear.

“Congratulations, milord, milady. It’s a boy.” Bronwyn bundled him into another clean towel and passed him up to Claire’s waiting arms.

Big blue eyes stared up at Phil. Not blue green, but the same color Phil shared with his mother. A tousle of dark brown hair – Phil’s color – matted against the baby’s head.

“He’s got your eyes,” Claire murmured.

They’d both wondered and hoped that Mab’s gift had worked. That this child was truly theirs, with no trace of Pierce. The clear blue made the babe’s heritage obvious; along with Council’s verdict of Pierce’s guilt and the Queen of the Winter Court’s word, their son would be safe from the Hydra factions manipulations. As far as the ton and peerage were concerned, the heir of Argyll was born slightly early, but long enough after his parents’ marriage to be believable.

“Oh.” Claire gasped, her eyes widening. “That’s a strong one.”

“I don’t think we’re done yet,” Bronwyn announced. She stopped pressing on Claire’s stomach, looking to expel the afterbirth. “There’s a second babe.”

“What?” Phil’s mouth fell open. “Two?”

“Nellie,” Bronwyn called. “Get those sterile shears so Lord Coulson can cut the umbilical cord then take and wash the babe.”

Phil’s hands shook as Bronwyn’s apprentice passed him the scissors. Even though they’d talked about this, he hesitated when Nellie put two clamps on the cord, leaving room for him to cut through.

“He’ll be fine,” Natasha assured him. “Best to start learning how to let him go. It gets harder as he gets older.”

Taking a deep breath, Phil closed the metal lengths, severing the last physical connection between mother and son. As he did, he saw a flare of blue light reaching from his son’s tiny chest to Claire’s and then Phil’s, joining with their path, strong and steady.

“I know you’re tired, love, but this one is coming fast,” Bronwyn exclaimed. “Give a good push or two and you can rest.”

Claire’s face paled; Phil lifted her up, holding her in place with his strength.  “I promised to protect you and all our children,” Phil reminded her.

“No such thing …” Claire groaned through a massive contraction and push, “… as a gift without strings.”

“Fine blonde hair,” Bronwyn announced. “One more big one, lass.”

Every muscle in Claire’s body strained; a shout ripped from her mouth as the head appeared. Falling back against the pillows, Claire moaned. Her hair was wet with sweat and plastered to her head; tired eyes half-closed as Phil watched Bronwyn clean up his daughter. She didn’t squall like her brother, only hiccupped and gave a startled little gasp before her distinctive blue grey eyes looked up in wonder.

“Your daughter, Lord Coulson.” Bronwyn placed the wrapped child in the crook of Claire’s left arm. “And your son.” She passed over the other babe to Phil. “Congratulations. Two healthy babes. It’s a blessing from the old gods.”

“Old gods?” Phil asked, not looking away from the amazing sight that was his son. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes – Phil counted.

“Twins, the legends say, are a gift. Conceived just after marriage, they mean the lands will have double the fertile years, a span of wealth and prosperity,” Bronwyn said. “Now, let’s cut that cord and we can let the lass get some sleep once I stitch her up.”

Two children. Phil knew without a doubt this was Mab’s doing, what with both of them so like their parents. There was a long game at work here, maybe had been all along.  But for now the blue lines connected them all in an intricate knot, four sides, one center. They were a family and Phil would do everything in his power to protect them from whatever might come.

* * *

 

_**One year and six months later (The twins’ first birthday)** _

“Barney Barton!” Claire’s voice rang across the patio. “Are you about to put my son on that flying contraption?”

Looking guilty, Barney scooped little Robert Charles Barton Coulson up in his arms. “Of course, not. And it’s a hover platform to move heavy equipment. It doesn’t fly. Not much anyway.”

Claire gave her brother her patented mother stare. “Robert’s bad enough on his own; he doesn’t need encouragement from his uncle.”

“Unca Arney!” Robert bucked in Barney’s arms, reaching out for the board.

“No, buddy, that’s too dangerous. Hey, how about we go see what Aunt Toni’s working on?” Barney suggested, scooting towards the open french doors.

“I swear, if there’s trouble to get into,  he’ll find it.” Claire shook her head in mock despair. “He’s a Barton through and through.”

“Barney or Robert?” Natasha asked with a laugh, setting her cup of tea on the table. “The boy definitely takes after you.”

“Aunt Toni?” Phil asked, sipping a glass of brandy. “Have we made that official yet?”

“Oh, Toni doesn’t want to get married,” Maria told them. “She’s very bohemian lately. Society’s judgment doesn’t matter. Besides, I think she’s more worried about the legalities; husbands still take possession of the wife’s estate, lands and all.”

“I understand that Barney’s been to a solicitor about establishing a trust, something before the nuptials,” Claire said with a fond smile. Seeing her brother in love, not to mention successfully pursuing his interests, made her happy. “He’s determined to sign away any rights to Toni’s estates for himself.”

“Ah, that would be the surprise he’s been hinting at?” Jasper said. “Sounds like a good solution.”

“Which means we have to get used to extravagant presents,” Phil pretended to grouse.  Toni did understand what the children liked; Robert got a mechanical pirate ship complete with a cannon that fired (ammunition immediately confiscated, of course) and their daughter, Elizabeth Bronwyn Clinton Coulson, received a box of moving pictures that cycled through the whole alphabet, colors, and basic words. She was currently scrolling it with one fat hand clutching the crank, feeling each of the raised images with her fingers.

“So much like you,” Natasha said with a nod towards the blonde haired girl. “She’s going to be a scholar, just like her father. A blessing, I’d say, the two of them.”

“From the old gods.”Claire shared a look with her friend.  Natasha smiled; she kept her secrets close still, but she’d become a fierce protector of the children from the moment they were born.

“Sometimes a curse when we want to get a good night’s sleep,” Phil added.

“Raising a child is quite a job,” Natasha agreed. “Especially two as unique as these.”

“My Lord,” Jenkins interrupted. “A petitioner has arrived. I’ve placed him in the upstairs library where he’ll feel comfortable.”

The butler only wore his glamour when guests who didn’t know of the supernatural world were around; now, his pointed ears peeked out of his curling grey hair, and his glasses perched on top of his long hooked nose.  

“Very good, Jenkins,” Phil replied. “Offer him refreshment and I’ll be along shortly.”

“Can’t be the hobs from the mines; you settled their pay two days ago,” Claire said.

“It’s the grim from St. Andrew’s Kirk,” Jenkins told them. “Town council voted to build a new fountain in the square instead of fixing the bells.”

“Bells. A year of study in an ashram and I’m settling disputes about bells.” Phil smiled at Claire as he got up. “Lady Coulson? You want to meet the local church guardian?”

“Of course,” Claire took his hand and stood. “You promised to show me the world after all. Then we’ll check on Toni and Barney to make sure Robert doesn’t have his own mechanical wings.”

Life,  Lao Tzu once said, was a series of natural changes. Resisting them caused sorrow. Going where life took you was the way to peace. For Claire, her life was as natural as the dust on a butterfly’s wings; she simply sat back and let the flow of the path take her.

 


End file.
